Twofer Tuesday Poetry: Negative Thoughts & Robot Steve

Negative Thoughts

I still have days where everything feels wrong

I lost my place in the world

I have no purpose

No one would notice if I disappeared

I’m invisible to everyone

I’ve made no significant impact in the world or in anyone’s life

No one cares what I think or feel

I should just give up because nothing matters

And then The Woman sends me a message

All those thoughts vanish

Robot Steve

A young mech came to my store
Asking for a copy of Oiled Gears Magazine

“You gotta have three upgrades to buy that.”

“Come on Steve. My last upgrade is in the mail.
I’m practically old enough.”

I scanned his serial number

“One upgrade required.
Come back next week, Wallace.”

I think the humans called that adolescence

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.

Twofer Tuesday Poetry: Steve Awakes Recharged & Coffee

Steve Awakes Recharged

The store opens in 30 minutes
I must restock and sweep
I also make a list of orders
Today is inventory day
I count the shelves as I stock and sweep
I count the back storage after close
There’s already someone waiting for me to open
They see the sign and check their time piece
They knock on the window
“Hello, are you open?”
Did humans have this problem?
The history magazines don’t think so
They say humans only killed each other
Or procreated and not much else
Nona, the oldest robot in town,
Comes for her oil and fuses
She blows a different fuse each week
Her circuits don’t fire like they used to
Poor dear, I always give her a discount
She’s starting to rust

Coffee

The smell and aroma
The steam in my nostrils
The bold taste on my tongue
The caffeine in my body
The mug in my hand
The book on the table
Any time of day
With solitude or with company
Always hot; never iced
Cold brew is the devil
I like my coffee black
Just like my soul

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.

Poetry Monday: Steve Gets Robbed

A young mech tried to rob me
He had a trigger that released EMP

“You know, that’ll shut you off too.”

The kid looked at me then the trigger
Then back at me his trigger hand shaking
He didn’t know the pulse shot one way
It wouldn’t hurt him he didn’t read the manual

He ran out the door taking a bag of wires
His friends probably dared him
I logged the loss and finished reading my magazine

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.