This Side Up

For your purposes the machine inside
is a woman. She has been programmed to carry

but never initiate conversation. She comes equipped
with endless knowledge, from gapping spark plugs

to the Maxixe’s lifted kick, and can recite Jesus’ forty-six
parables, or perform the sixty-four positions of the Kama

Sutra depending on your wants. If you decide her worldly
grasp surpasses your own, press the red button on your

remote, batteries included, to narrow her understanding
and create sincere reverence when you locate the clustered

Seven Sisters, searing blue and forever fleeing Orion. She
will repeat Pleiades in her sleep. Guaranteed to feel

pain as small as pinpricks, her eyelashes are supplied
with mascara, their vats last one year or two hundred

crying jags, whichever comes first. If she becomes clumsy
and bumps beet jars off counters, call the number listed

on her wrist and an updated model will be delivered before
the juice stains tile. Our company boasts a lifetime warranty

that begins as soon as you break the vacuum seal and hear
her first hello. Her name is Alicia, but it doesn’t have to be.

 

{TO READ MORE POEMS FROM THE SCIENCE FICTION ISSUE, PLEASE PURCHASE IT HERE.}

 

Paige Lewis is an MFA candidate in poetry at Florida State University. Her poetry has appeared in such journals as WomenArts Quarterly, Lunch Ticket, and Stone Highway Review.

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