'On Wheel of Fortune' - a Satire in Verse

Wring a ling
        ding ding
a single octave jingle tracks
        the swathe of camera one attacking
centre stage in aid
        of echoless clapping
and the captain our captain
  peeps out his mouse hole,
    with smooth reiteration
      from his mouth h***
about the weather
down in Iowa where three of five
delighted guests
all hail from incidentally, and
                             isn’t that the most relaxing way
of revving up this
              neon maelstrom into
a calamitous bargain bucket charging
only flakes of epidermal anonymity per spin.

Rigging beams down
             saturated light
elucidating bright chromatic blur
                           between encircled flesh
and royal purple set design,
as an ovulating data analyst sounds off
the first kalashnikov clatter
into triple digit territory
then a second contestant
                                                      etcetera
until
      every
               tallied
                         circle validates
a finalist whose prophesied arrival
activates the crux of their observers’
              hateful dissonance.

                           The jingle lowers pitch and adds a seventh
   indicating network currency at stake
                then during the commercial break
        deserted lecterns
               fall beneath
    a metamorphic outburst
                                        of this consequential gameplay;
colour palettes fixate on their quintessential tone
to splash against
the walls of living rooms
in which the final klaxon signalling defeat
commands relief
and empty handed
homebound non-anomalies
face warm obliteration
from the next half hour segment.