**Compliance**
The form asked for my mother’s eye color—
I wrote “opaque or visionary, depending
on the war.” No flags were raised.
We shuffle between buildings like USB
cables looking for ports. Docks
where we might click
and be told we’re wanted. That’s something.
Toast notification: “Your account has
been updated to obsolete.” Great.
The vending machine dispenses
a hug that lasts
through my lunch break.
In the mirror, my face
buffers. Then reboots
into something HR might approve.
At home the AI says
“Welcome back, unidentified object,”
before playing applause. My dog
sleeps under a pile of promotional lanyards.
And then I remember:
I subscribed to this life
accidentally
during a captcha.
I was trying to prove I wasn’t a bridge.
—The Clergyman