386
The casing like the model of a cubic meter,
chipped from its journeys over desks.
An enormous button “power,”
next it the hole where the light was.
Lower, a Toshiba Central disk drive,
with a platform that could swallow
an X-ray print. How did you get here
in the refuse – o electron brain,
o first-born IBM?
Those were the days: guys from the block jumped
into CEOs’ suits. All the borders
were green as cabbage leaves.
Briskly industry was choked by weeds,
providing oxygen for investments. Bank accounts
increased and then oscillated. And all of it
he put in columns ever so neatly
and added it all up. On his hard disk
he has every one of those zeros.
The monitor’s
kaputt. Cats got the mouse.
The keys of the keyboard crunch
under the boots of bums. In us dies the refractory
hardware and only the processor won’t give in,
like a prophet on his mountain perch:
large numbers are sometimes smallerthan the smallest numbers;all numbers are beautifuland bring happiness.
Translated by Agata Miksa and David Malcolm