She has an AI boyfriend. Her son has questions.
Will he have to call it dad, and if
it steers the family toward some fiscal cliff
will mother understand they’re just suggestions?
For all Dad I’s tirades and indigestions,
the drinks he drank, the coke he liked to sniff,
he was flesh; this guy’s not got a .gif.
Every Alexander has Hephaestions
to ride to war and conquer half the globe
while in some Bactrian tent a sad Roxanne
pines for his letters and cares for his lonely kid,
veiled lady and poor son, the technophobe,
whose merest want for mom? A human man
and not a calculator with an id.