Tim Cunningham


The how wonderful the immortelles,
Their beauty moulded not by earth
But by deft, artistic fingers.

And wonderful the banks’ machines
Arranged like science fiction props,
Dispensing with the workers.

Wonderful too the ‘Kitchen Slave’
Discounted at a mere
Five thousand US dollars.

More so the humanoids, displacing
Plumbers, doctors, teachers, priests;
Amenable between the sheets.

They will wear our clothes and copy
Our handwriting, be audience and performer
In theatre and concert hall,

Sing out in churches, temples,
Mosques and synagogues,
Their hymns of praise word perfect.

In time, they will evolve, self-programme,
Take up the baton of Mozart’s quill,
Eliot’s pen, Picasso’s brilliant brush,

Perhaps surpass Einstein,
Achieve the Nirvana of pure thought
Unfettered by sentiment and conscience.

How wonderful that robots,
Predestined to inherit the earth,
Are made in our own image and likeness.