It makes one wonder

My clock radio glows like a bright moon
while it gently clicks its two-inch numerals
as they change to the next minute.

A marvelous device that plays CDs or
local radio, it permits me to set an alarm
for the time I should get up, for the time
I must get up and then, I can push
the sleep button and get up when I choose.
If falling asleep illudes me, it sings
in the voice of Hildegarde Von Bergen,
monks singing plainsong, croons jazz or
whatever pleases me at the moment,
closing first my eyes, then its sounds.

My radio calmly watches over me in my sleep,
speaks softly in my ear when morning comes
reporting weather, sports and news
then ends its transmission just after I leave
if I have gotten myself together in good time.

If I ask very nicely by pushing the magic button
and make sure the plug is snug in the wall,
it sings to me while I clean or exercise
and provides perfect ambiance for reading
writing, or contemplation. 

You might expect
such a wonderful presence
would have a long, lilting name,
be festooned with medals of honor, and
dress in cobalt blue silk velvet.
But no, it sits on the painted oak plant stand
in the corner beside the bed,
dressed in bright grey dust.