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When you switch on a computer,
It does not say:
>> the people I love are in great pain
It says:
>> what do you want to do today?
I remember the smell of my first computer. The Commodore 64.
The year was 1983, and I had a boyhood fist-full
of bush-fire compensation dollars. Tuning it in
to a black and white TV in the corner of a caravan
ash black under the fingernails
Moon Patrol
Fort Apocalypse
Galactic Attack
Attack of the Phantom Karate Devils
Attack of the Mutant Camels
Missile Command
>> What do you want to play today?
Trying to hold my brother still,
Mother tending the bandages.
Peas and carrots in together boiling.
Lieutenant Colonel Petrov, that same year,
Defied his computer’s warning of a US missile strike,
His absence of retaliation saving us all from annihilation.
Not that we knew it in our quiet corner of the world.
Washing on the line, propped up with a stick. Tree smoke in everything.
Petrov’s satellite thought only of missiles
At the sight of sunlight glinting in the clouds.
