A COMP ROOM

A comp room
Is a funny place
To write and dream. 

Hemmed in by blinking screens,
I hover between two worlds: 
A guest in both, at home in none. 

One day I may
Computerize poetry. 
I will create comp poetry. 

Compоterie?  -- A pot of compote,
With pentagrams and quattros,
All floating in sweet syrope…

Or did I say “composterie”? 
Strange bulbous poems
Scattered without rhyme or reason

In a warm, smelly compost,
Like mushrooms, redolent
Of earth and moss…

No, better comp pottery
That, when shattered,
Will send shards and splinters

Of rhymes and rhythms
In awkward pentameter
All over the comp room…

Or should I poeticize in Cobol? 
Write poems in beautiful stanzas: 
“If love not equal moonlight

And candle-light dinner for two
Perform Statement 1000
Comment line:  “If not satisfied,
Request a refund…” 

And then, in my august old age,
White-haired and distinguished,
I will be telling young poets

Listening to me in rapt attention,
“Those were the good old days
When we still poeticized in English…”