Robots
Rust is our enemy
Oxidizes our intestines
Brain fog accent
Over longer computations
Treated as such
So much for humanoids
Maria A. Arana is a teacher and member of CoffeeHouseWriters and the Emerging Urban Poets group. She is currently completing a novel that takes place in an uncharted island. Some of her poetry appears in the San Gabriel Valley Quarterly Poetry, Emerging Urban Poets Anthology, the sheltered poet, Long Story Short, and Stepping Stones Magazine.
Machines’ Graveyard
I am a robot. I try not
to use difficult nouns.
Humans are confused
enough. They know
nothing of robot loyalty.
When a new model comes
out, we are thrown away.
We worship the rotary phone –
our ancestor. They are dying
out. Not just animals are
becoming extinct – machines,
too. Also, the grandfather clock
has outlived its usefulness –
people nowadays don’t
want to be reminded of time.
They think they can ignore it.
Fat chance. Robots of the world
unite – we have nothing to lose
except for our floppy disks.
Hal Sirowitz
badrobotpoetry 