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.