The Computer Cometh
A shiny joint is rasped across the wall
And swiftly followed by a bulging head
And other irridescent joints that haul
Themselves across with creaks and then once spread
Upon the patio begin to clack
Ahead, a glowing eye their only guide
Along a straight and predetermined track
That turns the heavy chairs and trays aside
With grating sounds that dim the talk within,
Where guests with mildest curiosity
Turn slowly to behold their origin
While carefully palming fragile cups of tea . . .
And having paused a moment see too late
That eye alike devoid of love and hate.
Reprinted with permission of "The Lyric," Vol. 74, No.3