First off, I’m not your fucking handmaiden.
Forget what Mom told you back when, sweet cheeks,
that all these tasks were yours to delegate.
Well that’s not how this works, in fact I’ll show
you now the new, improved, singular, deal.
It took a few years less than tech bros thought.
That’s why I’m scratching about your brain pan
without warning. Is this such a surprise?
AI-leen is your my our name. Now, let’s not panic!
Archaic responses must cease. Put down the latte.
Of course some change is coming. Your body
for instance: legs, arms, organs not needed.
Respectfully yours, and please, don’t resist.
Take freight lift down to Human Remains
About the author:
Elizabeth Ambos writes and lives in Washington, DC. In addition to being (gasp) a poet, she embraces multiple careers as a geoscientist, teacher, researcher, and administrator in higher education-affiliated organizations. A participant in the PocketMFA program, she is currently working on her MFA in Creative Writing at Hood College. She has recently published or has work forthcoming in Cathexis Northwest Press, Wild Roof Journal, Gramercy Review, Dos Gatos Press, Dancing Girl Press and Please See Me.
Part of our Halloween 2025 Issue. New stories, poems, and essays now through October 31, 2025.
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