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Desk Robot

This tin robot I set
in my teeth tastes
less like pennies
than I’d expect.

It was a gift I gave
myself to remember
a writer I admire
too much to get to know.
She might not appreciate
that I am inept at
liking difficult sentences.

I like a bicycle still
embraced by its U-lock,
despite having been
stripped of its parts.
My heart leaks at the fidelity.

Without its wheel, the bike’s
front fork resembles a snout
sniffing the concrete forlornly.
Its despair makes me less lonely.

When my mailbox remains
empty (which is often) I twist
the robot up.  It must
walk whenever I say.

It wobbles like it’s crossing
a suspension bridge.

I stand on one end
of the chasm, worrying
the little guy won’t make it.
Is it that you there, on the other side?

Are you the one shielding
your eyes from the sun?
Posted 07/12/12
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