I was born in a laboratory.
My cognizance stamped out on a microchip.
I am a single-core processor and 128 gigabytes of RAM
stuffed inside a semi-squamous sack of
sputum, pustule, and bone.

She was left at a Battered Women’s Shelter
for dead or otherwise. The other battered Women
didn’t care much for themselves.
Nor for her. Nor the children.
Ignorance ever the mark of a battered life.

But I tend to push my emulator
and fake the sort of care one needs
to take care of one’s needs.

The fools and the machines never
ever stand together. Though I suppose
the fools rarely ever stand.