Computer Screen

Programming all day on the Commodore
64 produces 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 any purview.
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.