My Whole World

What does it mean to be nothing,
The creator of everything
For the pleasure and suffering
Of everything made by nothing?

We watch TV on an iPad,
A  game unique to our moment
On one weird curvature of space.
My daughter's a fan of Elmo,

The red Sesame Street puppet
Voiced by a man older than me
Using a high, babyish voice.
I've never understood puppets,

Or clowns, Saturday Morning cartoons,
Fuzzy, animated creatures
Well designed to make children
Feel fuzzy and animated,

Not even when I was a child.
My first nightmare was of a clown,
Before it was fashionable
To shiver at clowns, I might add.

I find that I "get them" more, now
That I understand that adults
Animate them all while winking
Over kids' shoulders at adults.

Elmo's World's made of crude drawings
Meant to resemble crayon art
Of the real preschoolers who watch
To get tips on how to grow up.

It's clever, and it's more benign
In appearance than what you'll find
In the "Brothers Grimm and Gorey,"
Long rumored to have been outlawed.

One particular episode
From several years ago we watched
The other morning around six
Involved the theme of how to draw,

And, in between video clips
Of kids around the world, drawing,
Elmo drops the aside, "Elmo
Drew his whole world!" So don't we all.