poems

Another new yet retrospective offering at Bat, Bean, Beam.  (Poor Giovanni; he goes on holiday and I flood the archives!  Would that schedules were synchronisable!)

When the long-lived widow died
the mortgage on her house was paid
and the balance of her estate
divided between her seven children.

With its share, one family bought a modem,
32K.
Nothing so fast had you ever seen
nor noisy had you heard till then.

Memories and messages flung down a cable
through the gargling, the garbling
of the connecting machine.

It was the vo voi voic voice
voice voic voi vo
voi voic voice of home.

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Another new poem, forthcoming on an older post, at Bat, Bean, Beam.

The lambs, he said,
the little, little lambs
are crying out for you to eat meat.
They are crying out, Megan,
please eat me, immediately,
for the sake of the economy.

It was all in French
and I had no facility.
I bleat tears of frustration
at such unserious verbosity.

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