Then came the soft animals, the snake and octopus, slinking along. You've seen the octopus as escape artist, sneaking out of cracks and holes, hiding in a tea pot, plotting the big adventure. Now she moves through chemical reaction, the first soft robot, taking to the sea. Remember that the real thing once disassembled her own aquarium, waiting, bemused, in the remaining puddle, for her custodian to come. They say it was simply curiosity. Now imagine her robot double dismantling at will. That which we have tried to contain, swimming off into the deep, re-emerging like the snake that slithers into your garden; its trapezoidal kirigami cuts in plastic skin keep it crawling through bursts of air. An innocuous slinky in colorful garb, this robot can sidewind anywhere. Now ask why everything now harbors a weapon in your mind—do you dread the snake under your own bed? Is it the real tooth and venom you fear, or this programmed body double here? We're told of a fall, a fault built on flesh— the flesh of a fruit, the flesh of a woman— now this manmade flesh, a reptilian test of applied knowledge. Industrial sin co-starring the latest sensation: a running cockroach robot, sliding through cracks to get to you, away from you, through your walls. Extinction now eradicated, bought: replacements on order. Enter "Robotanica"—the world of the wild robot— woodpecker, dragonfly, kangaroo, child— unborn, they can all do the job. Two by two, battery-powered to keep the world moving, replacing their organic prototypes. Centipedes, spiders, ants, termites, and robobees, these are just the beginning of the evolving nation, as if someone has decided to revise, start over. This time using human labor, invention. Copyright © 2019 by Rebecca Morgan Frank. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 29, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets. |
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