3D Print Yourself a New Best Friend Today

You can start from a template:

fishing buddy
gal pal
backstabber
dumping ground

There are others, too,
or you can start from scratch,
customize everything—but
that costs extra and you lose
something in verisimilitude:

Can you custom-build your
actual flesh-and-blood friends?

Hardly. Templates might seem
artificial, but most real people
are pre-formed by the time
you meet them, anyway.

Consider this: When you get
a new green dinosaur from
a Mold-A-Rama in some cool
corner of a museum, you are

every bit as pleased with it
as if you designed it yourself.
Your new 3D friend will be

similar: all one color,
with that new toy smell.
Warm and pliable, at first.

 

 

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.

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Earthbound (for NaPoWriMo, Day 22)

Weren’t we supposed to be
living on Venus by now, or the moon—
everything enclosed, climate-controlled,
rational? Wasn’t I supposed to be wearing
something in neoprene, high-collared
(though tight across my breasts), having
scientific, yet sex-infused discussions
with men? (We would address each other
as “Dr. So-and-So,” reverting to first names
in moments of passion, high tension. What
happened to that plan?) Where are the pellets,
the ones I was supposed to eat? The capsules,
I mean, to replace all that ridiculous food.
So many resources, for something so
temporary. So much time spent managing
something so crazy, so untenable, this planet.
Earth. We should have known it would
never let us leave. Even now—with
tsunamis, superstorms, melting ice,
all the rest—even now, it sends up
its tender shoots, waves its
cloud arms, says,
“Stay. Stay.

 

 

NaPoWriMo, Day 22 prompt: Write an Earth Day poem.

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Lightly Seared on the Reality Grill (for NaPoWriMo, Day 4)

With a hundred blue eyes, the scallop detected
certain changes in light and shadow that led her
to believe she’d soon have another meal, perhaps
her own larvae, which were always delicious,
in their way—and besides, she lacked a siphon, so
she might as well enjoy. Or perhaps the moving
form that she sensed was another scallop,
a male scallop. She was not as excited by this
possibility, being both male and female herself,
and thus, not in need of any assistance or
company. But she always felt that it was only
sporting to release any roe she might have,
if another’s visceral mass seemed to be
calling out to hers. It was easy, living like this.
It was easy, even for a hundred eyes, to miss
the glint of the knife just before she saw,
at last, everything—but most of all, the sun.

 

 

NaPoWriMo, Day 4 prompt: Write a poem using as a title one of the fanciful spaceship names created by science fiction author Iain M. Banks. I got my scallop facts mostly from this Wikipedia page. Make sure to check out the diagram, too — it’s in color, so you can see the blue eyes. Truly, science fiction is real, and it’s all around us.

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