Switch on :
There’s something there.
She meets my gaze,
laughs at my jokes,
caresses my hair.
She’s programmed for
Thank you, Please and Sorry;
I have ceased to worry
about the uncanny
dispensing care.
So clever these days:
the texture of silicone,
a breath-scent of flowers.
You can’t fault the design,
the imperfections
that give peace of mind.
Recharge :
She can talk for hours.
All the words in the world
are in here, somewhere,
a matrix of phrases
delivering cheer.
Switch off :
from the subject of death;
she and I disagree.
For her, at least, there is
nothing to fear.
Wow, I like the structure of this and the poignancy at the end. Super poem!
Fascinating, Martin. I’m not sure I completely understand what’s going on, but I like the atmosphere & it’s given me plenty to think about!