As I was driving through Piazza Navona, Rome
I received a phone call from Charles Babbage's friend
- What's you favorite color, she asked
- What is it some kind of a test? Blue's nobody eye color, milady.
- Please kid, stop playing cool, we'd like to know
Whether you're just a neat pack of lies;
It is a Turing test all right: are you human or
Are you not?
I pulled over before entering the tunnel
Which twists through beneath the ruins
And heard me saying
'Not an easy question, ask Byron for one.
Truth be told, one can only tell at the end'
When I actually thought:
There's no way to convince anyone
But if I shuffle stuff long enough in the glove box,
Surely I'll find the map showing a way forward
Or a way home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem