A double sonnet,
the letter posted at Astor Station
was written on a ‘pretty old’ computer,
he thought it’s written on maybe the very first
even before the
word computer or word processor was adopted for
that that he was writing on to respond
to an early poem,

which was not actually a poem but
a thought experiment taking place
in the mind of a writer,
slapping Helen over the interregnum
that hasn’t been thought of much less
re-invented yet.
The computer without a name (so far)
the one that may be the first or for
sure a prototype soldered
with tubes and distinguished by
a green glow above in a porthole,
not a porthole actually but there was
no easy word to come up with for
it seemed a screen back in the day,

still the computer was up
and running like a force on deck, a fox force
in process that figures it out,
tries most of the time, untold alphabets
(fewer numerics) to fill the porthole
with good gay letters and fulfilling idea plants.