Poem for Little Robots

Almond wind blowing over
a sad sack of ginger glue
the mild detergent
is making the ocean
peanutbuttery
my honey is gunky
my day is bungled
with the artifice of grass
I tuned the glint of light
to a low D with a forecast
of more than pain
and still
the little robots:
they grab back and
they're good at it--
good
I tell you;
they've really got it
going on.
Such
nice shoes--
for a robot.