Vikram Seth

 

from Golden Gate

1.1. 
To make a start more swift and weighty, 
Hail Muse. Dear Reader, once upon 
A time, say, circa 1980, 
There lived a man. His name was John. 
Successful in his field though only 
Twenty-six, respected, lonely, 
One evening as he walked across 
Golden Gate Park, the ill-judged toss 
Of a red frisbee almost brained him. 
He thought, "Who'd gloat? Who would be glad? 
Would anybody? " As it pained him, 
He turned from this dispiriting theme 
To ruminations less extreme. 

1.2. 
He tuned his thoughts to electronic 
Circuitry. This soothed his mind. 
He left irregular (moronic) 
Sentimentality behind. 
He thought of or-gates and of and-gates, 
Of ROMs, of nor-gates, and of nand-gates, 
Of nanoseconds, megabytes, 
And bits and nibbles… but as flights 
Of silhouetted birds move cawing 
Across the pine-serrated sky, 
Dragged from his cove, not knowing why, 
He feels an urgent riptide drawing 
Him far out, where, caught in the kelp 
Of loneliness, he cries for help.