A robot
scans an email
written by another robot,
summarizes it, generates a response,
sends it.
The human
watches a video of the president
drinking cola from a golden chalice
in his seven-fingered hand.
A robot
scans multiple pictures of a family at the Trevi Fountain,
crops out the other tourists. It
decapitates each family member,
replaces their heads with
the most algorithmically sound combination of their faces.
The human
selects the best generated
version of their family
to post on social media.
They scroll pass pictures of
their kid’s unruly hair in the wind,
the contact information for the cop they talked to after being pickpocketed,
the blisters on the balls of their feet.
A robot
optimizes the words in the description
for user engagement, search engine results.
It comments on the post,
gets into an argument with another robot
about the best must-see attractions in Rome.
The human asks a robot
for ideas about what posts would gain the most traction,
for answers on their tests and essays,
for opinions on pop culture and politics.
A robot
buys, sells stocks
for fractions of a cent in fractions of a second;
buys a house for a property management company
from a robot
working for a different property management company;
determines the price of eggs for a national grocery chain.
A person
stares at the maple tree
outside the dining room window of their apartment,
writes a poem
about how their body changes as they age,
posts it to their blog.
A robot
gulps the poem down its maw,
grinds it into a binary chyme,
regurgitates its parts
when a user asks a question about autumn.
Tag: Social Media
You Are Not a Person (For Taylor Swift)
You were once
(of course), but it’s not
that world anymore.
Do you remember
summer days
when you could enter a coffee shop
without people noticing?
When you could read a book in the park,
the sun on your full face?
When you could walk home
under the evening’s raspberry sky?
The internet flattens people.
We know it. We hate it
when it happens to us;
you are different—
separate.
People are allowed to be complicated,
deserve shape, depth, empathy.
People need you, however,
to fit a narrative with
plot points and themes
clear as a Hallmark movie.
You cannot deviate
from the ideas in their heads.
You are an object—
a doll for fantasies of wish fulfillment.
How long has it been
since you could act without acting?
Since you could do something without the next ten moves planned?
Since you could talk to someone without your mask on?
Your wealth
—deserved or not,
ethical or not—
makes you a symbol,
a proxy
for whatever debate
the algorithm decides to prioritize.
It’s not your name
anymore;
it’s a brand,
a buzzword,
a search engine optimization.
You are an object—
a tool for the exploitation of consumers.
When was
the last time
you could share a thought
without having to consider
the opinions of CEOS or heads of state?
The last time
you could answer a question
without having to consider
the fates of the hundreds of employees who depend on you?
The last time
you could post a picture of your lunch
without having to consider
the moral implications of your plating?
You chose
to make art,
to share it with people.
You didn’t choose
to not be a person.
We did that
to you.
wellness feed
chug this shake, copy this routine
build your core
boost your gains
for the perfect physique
get this angle, this lighting
pose your leg like this
tilt your head like that
for the perfect silhouette
read these books, avoid those sites
learn about the world
be an informed citizen
for the perfect intellect
use this cream, this blush
smooth your skin
highlight your cheekbones
for the perfect youthfulness
drink this tea, this coffee
shit your brains out
lose 10 pounds
for the perfect body
Another dead child
You scroll through Instagram
during your mid-shift break.
A capybara balances an orange on its head,
neck-deep in a hot spring.
A toddler’s speech impediment accidentally
makes them say curse words to their mother.
A nonprofit repurposes a dead meme
to ask for donations.
A dead child, one leg missing,
lays in a bloody hospital bed.
You close the app,
open TikTok instead.
A teacher records herself collecting
rent from her students in their classroom currency.
A polar bear breaks open a pumpkin
using CPR-like compressions.
A painting comes into being
one smooth stroke at a time.
Another dead child, three holes in their chest,
lays in a high school parking lot.
You close the app,
check Twitter.
A selfie of someone you know from college
cosplaying as Captain Olimar at a convention.
A screenshot of an obscure Wikipedia page
about maps which omit New Zealand.
A thread about the lack of disability representation
in Disney animated movies.
Another dead child, flies around thier open mouth,
lays in a patch of dirt.
You close the app,
desparately open YouTube Shorts.
A speedrunner discovers a glitch
which warps them to the Ganon fight in Ocarina of Time.
A man explains the origins
of the 9-to-5 workday.
A woman covers “Hedwig’s Theme”
on a hammered dulcimer.
Another dead child, eyes wide,
lays in the basement of Netflix’s next murder show subject.
You put your phone back in your locker,
head back out to the sales floor.
M. Espinosa 