I saw a broken toy robot on my walk back to the apartment from work today. My wife took a photo of it on her way out on an errand. I felt inspired. A new poem for the collection, I suppose.
I am fine, btw.
🤖
Broken Robot
I saw a broken robot on my walk home today.
He was in the dirt near the sidewalk.
He was broken and alone.
I wondered what his final moments were.
Was he a good robot or a bad one?
I don’t know why I care.
I have always loved the good robots.
I’ve even loved the bad ones, too.
But I think of the kid. And I think of myself.
How did they see the robot?
Was the breaking a noble sacrifice?
Or had the robot finally paid for their crimes?
Why is the robot broken?
Robots did not choose to be robots.
This robot didn’t choose to be broken.
I think of the kid.
I think of myself.
I don’t think I’d ever break the robot.
I do not know if the kid made the choice.
Why do I think so much about the broken robot?
I guess I didn’t choose to be broken, either.
Don’t look too deeply into this unless you want to. It’s just some writing. No questions need be asked. Unless you have them. SEO dictates that I have an outbound link, and I must fulfill my function.
Beep-boop. Follow me for more poetry.
🛋👉🍭🤖