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It isn't as though the house
is dustier than it has been.
The quality of the laundering has not suffered.
Conditions, she thinks over the rim of her wine glass,
are largely unchanged, except for
a sly smirk when her husband thinks she isn't looking,
and what may be an answering wink
or may be their maid's left optical LED on the fritz.

She doesn't see the appeal, really,
of coy black rubber wheels at the ends of
long chrome legs, of pert metal cones on its chest
like pylons, molded aluminum hairstyle,
sassy chips of color at the ends of articulated steel fingers.
Of course if she did—see the appeal, that is—
this would all be an entirely different issue,
wouldn't it?

It comes around and offers them both
more wine, and he accepts with a cheeky grin.
He probably has no idea his tie is on backward;
it has been since this afternoon,
when he took the maid into the garage to fix
"that sticking right wheel that's been giving her trouble."

She supposes she should be more upset.
It's awfully tacky, of course, that can hardly be argued—
even more so than if the thing
actually had a pulse, a bedroom, or soft
living skin. But then it's also nice and
antiseptic, isn't it?
No friends to be gossiped to.
No begging him to leave her.
Nothing for her to deal with, except for
his poor acting as he cuts his meat and asks it sweetly
for another 4.6 grams of mashed potatoes.
As long as the silver gets polished,
she thinks, she doesn't really mind if meanwhile
the silver gets polished.

She pats her mouth with a napkin and stands.
No, no dessert, thank you. Please input
positivefeedback:delicious to the AutoChef 8000.
And don't hurry, dear. Go ahead and
enjoy your meal.
She can feel their romantic electromagnetism behind her
even as she turns to go.
This is not what it was made for, she knows;
but then, it is not what she was made for
either. They are living in the future, after all.
And what does the future owe them,
if not the reallocation
of inconveniences?
My half of a writing prompt with :iconfackeltanz:. You should go read his half, which is pretty darn brill. [link]

Don't even know with the title. It just popped into my head and I knew that otherwise I'd pick some significant noun or noun phrase from the first or last stanza like I always do. So. Should I just put it forward as a given that I would change the titles of any of my poems in a heartbeat if given a more interesting option, so I don't have to say so anymore?

Anyway. Friggin' loved doing this. Haven't done a fictional poem in a long time and this was just what I needed.
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OptimusYarnspinner Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2011  Student Traditional Artist
ninjababy Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
This is brilliant, reads like a poem, feels like a story. Or maybe that's reverse. Who cares, I like it.
ninjababy Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Oh, one thing: typo in line 6, thins should be thinks, I'm fairly sure.
fackeltanz Featured By Owner Jun 23, 2011   Writer
robosexuality is still a sin and you should be ashamed of yourself for writing this

or maybe we should just let this one slide because it is pretty freaking awesome
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Submitted on
June 23, 2011
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