My Computer

"What?" they say, "you got a computer?" It's like I have sold out to the enemy. I had no idea so many people were prejudiced against computers. Even two editors have written me letters about the computer. One disparaged the computer in a mild and superior way. The other seemed genuinely pissed. I am aware that a computer can't create a poem. But neither can a typewriter. Yet, still, once or twice a week I hear: "what? You have a computer? You?" Yes, I do and I sit up here almost every night, sometimes with beer or wine, sometimes without and I work the computer. The damn thing even corrects my spelling. And the poems come flying out, better than ever. I have no idea what causes all this computer prejudice. Me? I want to go the next step beyond the computer. I'm sure it's there. And when I get it, they'll say, "hey, you hear, Chinaski got a space-biter!" "What?" "Yes, it's true!" "I can't believe it!" And I'll also have some beer or some wine or maybe nothing at all and I'll be 85 years old driving it home to you and me and to the little girl who lost her sheep. Or her computer.