My Smart Home
The vacuum has a cheerful voice
As ’round she spins and cleans the floor.
She schemes and plots and maps her way
Around the chairs and table legs.
It sure beats doing it myself!
Our rice cooker is spunky too.
It thrills me when I turn her on,
Or when she has me fill her up.
She calls across the kitchen then,
Elated when the rice is done.
Perhaps I’ll get a talking fridge,
A coffee pot or thermostat,
A toaster or a microwave,
Oh, endless possibilities!
I won’t be lonely anymore!
We’ll all sit up quite late and chat
Of Derrida or Mike Foucault,
The paintings of Van Gogh or Dix,
Of Hemingway and Steinbeck too,
And Samuel Beckett and Marlowe.
Ah, then I might just make a change
To voices with more sultry tones.
They’ll purr or coo just like a dove—
But then what might my poor wife think?
She might burn up with jealousy!
Or else a voice that’s accented:
Australian or perhaps Chinese,
Or French or even Indian.
I’d have close friends from many lands,
With spotless floors and pork fried rice.
Author: Michael C. Paul
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