Child Prodigies of the Family Farm

Here is the message “hello world”

from the newest computing language in my brain.

I stand in digital space with my machine gun

spraying nothingness with ones and zeros.

This is the act they call creation:

Two boys throwing dry shit at the barn,

seeing which of them can make a patty stick.

It’s not a competition, though. It’s art.

they say to each other with lofty diction

as they rinse their hands in the creek

before returning to the flipping of pages

in their textbooks on Boolean logic.