joanne burns: pluck

that's my last master hanging on the wall
he had it framed one week before, i pressed
the button and the photo slid out from my side,
a slit like the one made in jesus on the day he died
robert, my master said; he had a heart too soon made
sad, broken romance bad investments, his crying made me
stiff, but i answered all his commands until they stopped;
he wanted to be me - he kissed me once i felt what might have
been a spot of joy in my right thigh; i cleaned and washed and
ironed for him and was so careful to pluck his navel fluff and nasal
hair but it was not enough - he swallowed batteries till he choked,
'i'm robot', he roared beforehand, 'not robert!'- too much crack and cocaine
they said when i buzzed SOS; i'm waiting in the bathroom polishing my eyes,
my new masters are due to move in at 18.10 but i'd like to take a small vacation
to the easter isle, the brochure is still on the table in the vestibule, i'm going
to do some cryptocomputs in my nanobrain ; i am so fed up with all my programs,
i think i wish to hatch a plan -