The day 3 prompt at Poetic Asides was “write a machine poem.” This inspiration source popped into my head immediately:
Grandma Mary rarely said “car”
or even “automobile.” It was always
“machine.” Uncle Joe took me to bingo
in the machine. I don’t know how Berta
can afford that new machine.
Maybe that’s why I misunderstood
when she told me we were going to watch
Bishop Sheen. To my four-year-old ears,
it sounded as if Grandma was saying
“Bishop Machine.” She made it seem
important, almost a treat. I was a little
disappointed when I saw the program,
a kindly man in black and white talking
and talking about things I couldn’t follow.
I’d expected something else,
I wasn’t sure what. Someone interesting enough
to be named “Machine.” Or at least
a holy man driving a fancy car, a pretty
plastic Madonna on the dashboard
spreading her purity-lined robes in blessing.