Order

For once, he was just my father.

We drove to the Computing Center

in a Monte Carlo Landau

not technically ours. Lexington,

1977. That fall. The color

had settled, too, undone

orange-brown and dull yellow,

crimson. And it was something,

yet not, the pile of  leaves

just a pile of  leaves. Sorry to think

what thinking has done to landscape:

He loved punched cards,

program decks and subroutines,

assembly languages

and keypunch machines.

Even my father looked small

next to a mainframe.

The sound of order;

the space between us.

We almost laughed, but not for years —

we almost laughed. But not. For years,

the space between us,

the sound of order

next to a mainframe.

Even my father looked small.

And keypunch machines,

assembly languages,

program decks and subroutines.

He loved punched cards,

what thinking has done to landscape —

just a pile of leaves. Sorry to think,

yet not, the pile of leaves

crimson. And it was. Something

orange-brown and dull yellow

had settled, too, undone

1977, that fall, the color

not technically ours, Lexington

in a Monte Carlo Landau.

We drove to the Computing Center.

For once he was just, my father.