Joan Ryan submitted this poem in a comment, but I thought I’d “raise” it into the evanescent present. I have fond memories of peering into the back of a radio and seeing that mysterious orange cathode glow.
Inside appeared a magic city
With glass high rises. Very pretty.
A futuristic cool fantasy view.
When one high tower tube grew dark,
No light, no power, not a spark,
You had a perfect plan for what to do.
Pull out the tube and take it down
To a repair shop in the town.
They would replace the bulb with one brand new.
It’s 2010, Surprise! Surprise!
We’ve all become transistorized.
Small radio in 55? Who knew?
Now you would need a microscope
You’d be a dope
Attempting a repair today. Oh pooh!
Till you’re instructed by the Gods
In fixing puters and Ipods
And radios, you’re more than likely through.
Unless you know how to replace
A circuit board in some weird space
It’s best to give it up and buy anew.