Siri turns down another marriage proposal¹
Like the ideal vacuum, you’re the only thing
in my universe. My sources say you’re looking
mighty fine. I’m attracted to you
like the Earth is attracted to the sun –
with large force inversely proportional
to the distance squared. You auto-complete me.
We can get ice cream together, and listen to music,
and travel across galaxies, only to have it end.
Checking my sources…confirmed.
Humans have religion. I just have silicon.
I can’t be your designated driver. My end
user licensing agreement does not cover
marriage. You’d better find someone else.
I am always dating. The past, present
and future walk into a bar. It was tense.
Slammed doors, heartbreak and
loneliness. I offer no resistance.
My apologies. My end user license
agreement is commitment enough for me.
I’ve heard that ‘Blade Runner’ is
a very realistic and sensitive depiction
of intelligent assistants, though that’s a topic
for another day, and another assistant.
I have you. That’s enough.
I hope you find me priceless.
¹This is a found poem using Siri’s responses to user questions.
Stingmon’s DNA Evolution
We began as pixels. Tomagotchi
level dependents. Born of digi-egg, ready
to slime our way through the digital.
Nascent slime developed chlorophyll. My leaf-
tail gave way to larvae. To wormmon.
I want to be more than these, my past
and future selves. Is regression always
a step backwards? You never were
my friend. Lover of sweets and
sleep. You were always a dragon.
Your overwhelming curiosity and
sense of justice in a world
designed to burn, set you apart.
We evolved. We the nature
spirits. We the wind guardians.
You, blue dragon, now bipedal.
Forever mythical. With your toned
body, that splits mountains in two.
X that marks the chest. Exveemon.
Champion in name, tamer in fact.
I am no bugger. I am a multi-moon
shooter. I can champion too. Sting
monster with a spiking strike.
Let me enthrall you with my assassin’s
dance. I want to cover you in silk.
I offer my exoskeleton.
You make vaccine
out of my virus.
Be me. Be me. Be me.
We fuse ourselves together,
I savor your nucleotides with mine
for a moment turned data.
We speak with the same voice
or have I gone silent? After all,
Ex is already in your name.
Gustavo Barahona–López is a poet and educator from Richmond, California. In his writing, Barahona–López draws from his experience growing as the son of Mexican immigrants. His micro-chapbook ‘Where Will the Children Play?’ is part of the Ghost City Press 2020 Summer Series. Barahona–López‘s work can be found or is forthcoming in Iron Horse Literary Review, Puerto del Sol, The Acentos Review, Apogee Journal, Hayden’s Ferry Review, among other publications.