A Quick Word Before It's Too Late

A QUICK WORD BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE

While we can still—if with a little wit—

identify the robots as something less

than flesh, and while we needn’t 

worry that we misaddress this word 

to some blood-thick passerby 

just as bent out of wack by all this

as the rest of us, some of us

would like to make very clear

where we stand on the matter.

Enough introductory blather:

To the untraceable, shape-shifting

spirit hard at work animating  

the smiling troop of assassins 

who slip into our nurseries

to mark the victims with a digital 

kiss before slitting their wrists;

before you finish convincing

the confused, if well-meaning

good guys that you're the good guys

and that leaving the doors unlocked

is a good way to demonstrate

their unwavering faith that nothing

out there can hurt us, and that

conveniently it can't hurt us

that you also negate the uncomfortable

work of rousing oneself from slumber

to get up and lock the doors;

before the mask at last is knit

and the disguise impossible to see

through,

             a loud, love-handled,

skinned-knees-and-hair-loss

and the sheer grit living takes

and dying too,

                        fuck you.