Alison Rose’s Reviews > Dearly: New Poems > Status Update

Little dollface robot,
what will you make of yourself
in this world we are making?
What will you make of us?

Where will you bestow yourself
when you are obsolete?
On what cosmic trashheap?
Or will you live forever?
Will we become your ancestors,
rapacious and tedious?
Or will you erase us?
Will you drop us on the floor?
Would that be better?

Here is the woman working a knife
among onions and innards,
her sleeves turned back, besmeared.
She's looking at us aslant:
she knows what bodies eat.

This is her job or prayer,
her grace, her offering:
these guts and dying petals,
the candle guttering down.