On spinning spools

like plastic jewels

the reign of VHS and Betamax

was brief in human terms,

 

a peeping tom affair

of soporific ads and afro hair

Miami cops with force and flair

longshots of a famous bridge

 

or the spread of porn to drawing room

girls with small red scarves

the studs with DIY props and

office backdrops

the wallowing sound of the Fender Rhodes

wah wah pedal, the midwest clothes.

 

Squat video players for hire from

Dixons and Rumbelows

the spools pulled tight like plastic stockings.

Somewhere on illegible sticky labels

The Sweeney and Arthur Daley dwelt

 

now banned from charity shops

the final humiliation, of racist comedy

upbeat travelogues forbidden by wives

to reside on shelves,

and we surely miss the tinny clatter

of the square cut mouth,

the bleached or sunset fairy hues

of Alice in Town or Hill Street Blues.