Programming all day on the Commodore
64 outputs a mediocre score.

Such a step down from war-room machines
with tape reels, punch cards, and eerie green screens;
the dot matrix printers hammering glyphs,
zipping out reams: my reluctance to shift

toward digital homes, from analogue
continuity—the move from prologue
of gigantic boxes of vacuum tubes
to pocket phones replacing mainframe rooms.

The information age grows like kudzu:
resistance futile, chips in all purviews.
From punch cards of Babbage to Turing-complete;
to a world-wide net of nothing discrete.

Great! Information now, not later—
but look out for the Terminator.