I want you to bend and count to ten for me.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, can you do that for me?
A few deep breaths? That’s it. Say Aah—open wide?
I know, just lift your shirt and show me the QR code
so I can scan you real quick? Now, disengage memory
and walk down this white line, touching your nose
with your left index finger for me. The other left.
Put your disk drive on the ground. There you go.
So far so good. Now—would you mind unwinding?
Disassembling for me? Shutting, pausing, and rebooting?
Can you fracture and glitch for me? Now deep breaths
to the broken. Thank you. Now approach—slowly—
and squeeze me in your arms. A touch lighter. Whoa.
Don’t lift me. Okay. That’s enough.
—Peter Krumbach
Peter Krumbach is the author of Degrees of Romance, winner of the Antivenom Poetry Award. He lives in Del Mar, California.
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