Poetry
Image from Adobe
Sentience
My car, a rust-infested attendant of me,
reliably pressing on, content with its
purpose to the bitter end, an endearing
thought that overtakes me suddenly and
intensely, that there will soon come an end
to our we-two-against-the-world collaboration.
The traffic light overhead impresses me as a
mindless if well-meaning technocrat, dispassionate
in the administration of its duties, oblivious to
impatience, a necessary if unfulfilling existence.
My windows half-down, inrushing
wind emancipating a receipt from
the floor of my car, the receipt floating briefly
as it contemplates an escape route, plunging
into the vortex of air rushing by my window,
flailing in the car’s draft, realizing too late
its mistake, one day to be impaled and
deposited in a hefty bag by repeat offenders.
iOS 26.2
my phone is updating
my phone is changing,
evolving...
(I think I can see myself
how others see me until
I see pictures of myself)
...the new features seem
unnecessary. different
ways...
(there’s a dead body, she
says with a pleased gleam)
...of doing the same things
as before. challenging me to
figure...
(in the next iteration, assuming
there is one, comes reconciliation)
...out the new ways if I don’t
view the tutorial, which
I don’t...
(people smoking or drinking
to excess are intentionally
hastening to the exits)
...and can’t, because there
is no tutorial since
they’ve...
(in her eyes she was scared
of me leaving, worried; to
anyone else her face was
comically unexpressive)
...been discontinued, since no
one watched them; closing out
tabs...
(I remember my dreams
so vividly now that sometimes,
if I wake up in the middle
of the night to micturate,
I fall back asleep and
rejoin the dream in progress)
...is different after the update,
confusing at first, not so difficult
when...
(I might not embrace the
wistfulness of life but we
hold hands sometimes)
...I figure out how to, if I
don’t figure out how to,
multiple...
(I wondered what he'd
done to be here; something
at cross-purposes to society’s
intent.)
...tabs are left open and
the battery dies
faster.
(anise, fennel, vanilla with a
tinge of uncapped pen;
dryer exhaust riding an
orange blossom plume;
fresh blood and melted
chocolate; bracken-scented
fish intermingled with
a persistent sou’wester;
a night of hair product and
your sweat on a freshly-
laundered pillowcase.)
Doxology
On the occasions when I’ve noticed,
they’re demanding of their terrier,
who looks like a dachshund busting
out of its mold, longer legs, pointed ears,
p’raps a hybrid, an expensive
crossbreeding endeavor, new prototype
of manageable canine companion.
The terrier pauses, back on its haunches,
it’s panting face like an unrestrained grin.
If the terrier could talk, might it not say,
‘What choice have I but to
acquiesce to the leash?
Just know, whatever I do is to placate.
Outwardly, we don’t question your
range of bizarre and inexplicable behaviors,
we manageable canine companions.
We understand that from you all
blessings flow: food, shelter, the opportunity
to defecate out-of-doors, the occasion
to be awash in these olfactory sensations.
To placate is to survive, then to thrive,
pat on the head, tiny treat notwithstanding.’