Day 17 - Ander Poul I have been sent to kill you

I hate the robots. If one stands too close to me
when I take the tube, I begin to sweat.
My heart bangs on its bars, screaming
"Let me out. I am innocent."
I itch. My spit becomes dry glue
and my forehead feels as if it's being blowtorched.

My doctor says it may be because I cannot smell them.

I am afraid of the robots. I am afraid
of how they can tear a man's arm off,
simply by taking it, resting their spare palm
on the clavicles and pulling,
like a man freeing his trapped coat tail
from a taxi door.

'Ander Poul I have been sent to kill you'.

Robophobia is a well known illness.
It is said to stem from a person's inability
to reconcile the humanoid appearance of robots
with their lack of human behaviour.
A waiting robot, for example, is never patient
because it does not get bored,
and therefore
never has to resist boredom.

It just waits.

'Ander Poul I have been sent to kill you,'
it tells me, and it waits.
It just waits.

They told me,
not long after I lost my memory,
they told me
that I'd been a secret agent.
I was undercover when the accident happened.
Apparently, I had a robot sidekick.
I had my own robot sidekick,
and we played scissors, paper, stone
to determine who would do the dirty work.
I won, mostly.