TURBINE | KAPOHAU

“What I guess I’m getting at is nanotechnology.” 
She pulls her legs up so her feet 
are underneath her whole self 
in a way that suggests 
she isn’t going anywhere 
and I think, ‘then it’s anybody’s guess.’ 
So I try, “they’ve made a robot who can mow the lawn, 
two years and he’ll be serving every home.” 
This is a piece of treasure 
I discovered in the paper 
sliced it out with my craft knife 
and glued it in my savings book. 
“Mmm…” she says and “…mmm?” 
and this chorus line of seagulls scream: 
What does some wretched robot mean 
to this woman who looks fucking good in jeans 
and anyway she hasn’t even got a lawn, 
I fill our glasses up with wine 
searching for a sultry line 
to shift the conversation from machines. 
“Smart Dust!” She finds the words 
with such delight she shouts 
and I slop a little down my front, 
“tiny little chips that can communicate…” 
                                                  “…how tiny?” 
“teeny-tiny – even smaller – and they’re everything! 
They speak to the weather and dance with the wind 
like a kind of techno-fied I-Ching.” 

It’s all very exciting and the night is long. 

Later, when she’s gone 
and I’ve washed the lipstick from our rims 
I look it up online and read, 
‘we will have Smart Dust embedded in our skin, 
it will keep us temperate and thin 
and in control’ 
and I think, ‘when this is the basket 
and when all the eggs are jumping in, where will I run? 
When our whole world is coded 
and decoded and recodified, where will I hide?’ 
And the romance of the evening has now died, of course, 
I find myself in the mouth of every gift horse, seeking 
confirmation that they come in peace. 
She looked even better without her jeans, 
But what’s the world without its mysteries?