My web designer friend told me that what I am doing recovering files from my ancient laptop is called a "Sneaker Network"!

Below is one of the poems I recovered. It is one of my favorites from a collection I sold to a youth health publisher:

When I Was Mad
"When I was mad," my dad would say,
"I'd meet the kid outside to settle it. On
the playground, at the park,
or anywhere was fine. Our friends
would form the ring. Our hands
would raise. Our feet would dance.
And between the blows,
it would all be worked out.
What's a few bruises?" he would ask.

"Now," I say, "We still have playgrounds,
parks, and other places
We even have friends.
But we don't raise our fists or
make our feet dance. We raise our guns and
knives and make our feet run.
We work it all out."

He is silent. Life has changed.
But still, I think I'd trade a gun
for a fist, a knife for an insult.
Yet even then, I wonder if both dad's way and
my way is not right for now.
I wonder if there's a new way for now. I
wonder, because I wonder
if I'll be a dad to say,
"When I was mad..."