[We started a writing group, Rumana and I and a couple of friends... modeled on Terry Wolverton's approach in the late 80s and early 90s. Two meetings so far; and we're all writing. This poem, blunt though it is, came to me clearly – that sense of making something:...]
Nowhere to move, so
work will need to
go on around me.
Said it might make sense to just
rip out all the veins,
start over,
replace the stuff on the roof with
something darker – more modern.
There are obvious patches of rot
and damp
and infestations;
yes, definitely, infestations.
You can see patches
along the arms,
especially across the main joints
and also
across the supporting bits of the
infrastructure
(legs to you).
The heating is pretty wonky…
Replace the whole furnace?
Really?
That will be expensive.
Ah, well…
Yes, the arch of the foot on the right
keeps collapsing.
Yes, all right, replace:
newer, more modern
materials.
All that central processing –
brain, eyes, whatnot –
yes, well.
Well.
You can see
that they’re simply
much older technology.
Maybe – can’t guarantee, but –
upload,
data cleaned out, restored,
then you want to dump it all onto a new
two-terabyte –
yes well of course backups –
with brightly flashing
lights.
All those tubes and valves –
sure, whole system –
around the cross pins
and those bits above
might as well just be replaced –
but I guess only
if you can still get that model…
***
The tough part is
that central pump.
Veins, passions, feelings,
faulty valves, scarred patches,
the whole is pretty much worn out –
face it, it’s going to be a matter of
Yank it out,
replace,
send to the trash heap.
But, of course,
if we’re going to do that,
it’s clear
that, really,
if we’d thought of it
we would just
have built
from scratch.
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