Can it type, does it speak Spanish, deliver exceptional customer service, keep the place from burning down?

Can it change a lightbulb, hang a picture, make me breakfast, scratch an old itch, one I’ve almost lost hope will ever stop itching?

Can it make me look good, add to my network, gain me an audience, puzzle my square peg into the proverbial round hole?

Can it love me the way I ache to be loved? Can it want what it wants, and then grab my kiss? Tag me, can I be it?

Can it just fucking work the way I need it to, be worth the money I shelled out for it, follow my commands, for Christ’s sake. Is that too much to ask?

Can I shout to it when I’m lonely and be reminded that I’m not alone? Can it speak to the sparks of the original flame? Can it be true? Can it convince me that we’re infinite?

Can it do just one thing better than anything else? Forget renaissance men and their laundry lists. Can it perform one vital function to perfection?

Can it operate long after I’ve made my final payment? Is it quality-made or just another cheap import? God forbid, I’m the one whose face it blows up in.

Can it push me through when I’m stuck? Can it teach an old dog? If I show up, will it be a rehash of the same? Can there be something I haven’t heard?

Is it money?

Is it power?

Is it love?

Can it be the thing I’m in search of?

Can it snatch up my wig and give everyone a great, big hug?

or not.

Better yet,

stand me

just so. Set me

right here

and then pull

out the rug.