Madison Avenue market psychologists,
like a mountain lion, a grizzly or a
Diamondback rattler knows its territory,
know what commercials to play on
just the right channels at just the right
time to generate revenues and maximize
profits for the companies that pay them,
like lobbyists in Washington DC, oh so
well. Cialis’ two old-timey claw-foot tubs
appropriate for two old-timey folks are
placed between fairways and next to greens
and often close to the holes on the Golf
channel Friday, Saturday and always on
Sunday with the biggest audience as Tiger
and Phil walk past and tip their caps to the
naked bodies in the tubs and as an aside,
why are the naked bodies in separate tubs
in an ad for erectile dysfunction assuming the
dysfunction got functional? Anyway, on
the Retro channel, lawyers offer the possibility
of a big payday for sufferers of bad hip
replacements, of unmeshed uterine meshes,
for those who ingested questionable pharma-
ceuticals which may have led to cervical and
bladder cancer and mental or other physical
disabilities or who may be way in arrears on
their income taxes and insurance companies
offer million dollar term life insurance policies
for a song and banks celebrate the glories of
reverse mortgages which if left to their logical
conclusions would leave the house in the hands
of the bank at which time some other company
would offer a way out of foreclosure all seen
over and over and over night and day on the
channel where the viewers just want to watch
reruns of “The Naked City,” “Route 66,” and
“Mayberry R.F.D.,” because they can escape
from the present and live again and again and
again in that simpler day and time all the time
in the Time Machine named Retro TV.
Is that what Madison Avenue knows in order to
help the hapless and helpless old timers looking
for a break from or maybe belated pay-dirt for all
the days’ woes or is it just another target group
whose money they seek to take? At which point
Madison Avenue, Mountain Lions, Grizzlies,
Diamondback rattlers, the pharmaceutical and
insurance companies, lawyers, banks, the Naked
City detectives, and Buz and Tod and later Linc
in their Corvette, Andy, Opie and Barney whistling
on their way to the fishing hole all looked at each
other quizzically and we stared blankly at them
while Rod Serling smiled into the camera, raised
his big, black eyebrows, then frowned and announced,
“Welcome to the twilight zone” as a pedestrian
walked past the house and saw the blue light
emanating from the big, bay window just as the
police car pulled up and told the curfew violator
to get in the car.
Thanks Robert … powerful piece of analysis … all these young Wall Street Jockeys with their freshly minted MBAs spend all of their time dreaming of how to filch a few more bucks from the hapless … a shameless profession, indeed … though I hate to call it a “profession,” which has, for me a positive drift. We have unleashed, thanks to Reagan, the worst powers of Wall Street … your poem captures the sadness, the evil, of it all. Ugly business, and shame on them all, dressed as they are to the nines and driving expensive cars so they can forget their crap and leave it behind at the country club. Ah well … thanks for giving words to all of this terrorism.