My loving commodity,
the persona that you wear
like a plaid sweater
is what I’ll miss.
Your store-bought smell,
the factory knit softness
of your skin
is what I’ll miss.

I loved the slow
and shy ticking
of your motor-
a lullaby made
of metal and plastic parts
uneven clicks, so genuine and
so common. For a second,
if I listened very closely
and shut my eyes,
it felt almost human.