by Nick Gisburne
I make so many. None will ever speak.
All broken. There is nothing I can do.
Another day, like every other, bleak,
Remembering the moment I made you.
A seven-day submersion in the tank,
But something in the settings, subtle, strange,
Destabilised the serum. As you sank,
I found myself too weak to watch the change.
Contaminants be damned. I made the choice.
No prototype so pure was meant to drown.
Still breathing, barely. “Can you hear my voice?”
My question left you fighting through a frown.
From whence it came, I have no way to guess.
It’s all I hear. A word. A whisper. “Yes.”
