Silas Thorne's Journal

Robot dog, I love you.
Although I do not have the
two thousand dollars or so
to buy you, you're still waiting,
a happy puppy, scratching clanky cool
with a motorcycle body, and a head
helmeted like Vader,
and a sparkplug tail, a dog
impervious to tooth or nail
or bullets.
And one day
when the economy is better
and when my wife lets me and
if I have discretionary spending
of two thousand dollars or so,
providing the art gallery owners haven't gone bankrupt and
providing you have no other master,
you will be there to guard my house.
I will call you Chip
and you will whirr with delight
and leap bionically metres up into the air
to catch hubcap frizbees in the park
and when my days grow long you will not rust
my faithful metal hound,for I will be your master.