1. The package came today. I am excited.
We unwrapped the box together. She sat back
but could not move, it was so life like;
she looked at me, said: “I do not want it,
put it back into its box and shove it.”
But… but… I knew there was no persuading her;
yet, I held her hand, guided her to the stairs,
laid her down to rest; watched her till she slept.
2. I’m almost finished now. It’s so exciting.
The little creature is almost ready. His green eyes
are so revealing, so happy, it reminds me of Marty.
I know I should have listened, took him back
packed him in the box, stowed him away;
but I just couldn’t resist him, he is so likable,
so real, almost like Marty.
3. Today I took him for a stroll. He liked that.
He played with the neighbor’s dog. They ran together.
My neighbor, Sam, just shook his head, sadly.
We returned and she was there, moping. I tried
unsuccessfully to chat with her, but she just stared,
blinking wildly; her left eye twitched, her right one too.
She, not him, looks more like a puppet now. What shall I do?
4. The instruction kit says he’ll last a thousand years. No wonder
I seem so heady about his little speaking system, he learns
so fast, as if he were almost human; the kids all love him,
they think he’s adorable: a shiny robot for the school,
the first they’ve ever seen, the little girls all follow him;
he laughs and plays, and runs away when they chase him,
but when they touch him there is fear in their eyes:
it is too real: a plastic boy that talks like them.
5. Finally I caught her talking to him. She laughed.
I think she’s finally accepted him. Her voice is gentle now,
she almost sounds like she used too, a mom
talking to her child, a lovely little conversation
that lasts hours and hours; she even fed
him a roast beef sandwich, and, let him lay
his little head upon her knees just like Marty once did.
6. I can’t believe it. It’s happened again.
The poor thing was riding down the street.
The man said he was sorry, he didn’t see him;
he swerved to miss him but instead the child
turned into him end over end; oh dear, what shall I do?
She looks at me again, tears in her eyes,
I do not know what to say, oh this will never do.
We stood there by the grave today, all sad and lonely,
missing this little mechanical child, not Marty.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.