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California, 1996

In the campus basement, computers shone
like giant puffball mushrooms in the dark
Too homesick to sleep again, I’d go at dawn,
dial up, and listen to the eerie music
of the modem. Inbox (1). The flame
of emerald font, and that feeling, like a goblin
poked a little note into my brain
then scuttled back into the boggy screen.

Yes, letters came – blue paper, airmail stickers –
some with drawings, one with dried roses
in the fold. But nothing like an email’s
quick epistle. Hard to feel it these days –
two thousand goblins writhing in my gmail,
rising up to throw their spears and daggers.