“[Machines] dream, when they dream, of stopping.”               Donald Bartheleme, The Dead Father, 1976

 

the radio raled all day

 

in a restive twentieth century way

     at the absence as if

     making cold air vibrate

     would consequate

 

      return and it did    in the way  

      now invites then   in the way

     on invites off

                                   but it smoothed

     when stroked        by a hand

     when tuned           by a hand

     when tuned

 

to the weather that’s warming, top 40, the news

 

to the purr of the music that happens

    to the dreams of machines

    that dream of their duty

    and do it