D.A.R.Y.L.

by

Somewhere in the Freudian soup of my infancy I remember being exposed to the 1985 film, D.A.R.Y.L., about a robotic boy who lives with a regular human family until he is recaptured by his military creators (or something). There was something faintly traumatic about being exposed to that film, but I can’t really remember what. In a bid to regain a quantum of sanity I have penned the following poem about it.

Haply am I a teenage robot

Little blest with the gift of Man’s soft speech

But every telephone north of Mexico rings out

A plaintive Lawnmower Man-lilt

And the Apple Macs weep heavy pixels

And the routers crash with ennui.

For all the inorganic world

Cannot for the life of it work out

Why I,

D.A.R.Y.L., the acronymic adolescent android,

Cannot get laid.

_______

My human cousin, Duke, lent me a pornographic magazine.

And by the Cylon God I beat myself blind

And gave it back to Duke with a Man’s pride.

Am I not a man like you?

If you cut me do I not bleed?

If you consent to mate with me do I not ejaculate?

(Why do you not consent to mate with me?)

________

No, Mother.

I shan’t relent in my quest

For human pussy.

__________

Why can I not say these words Mother?

Cousin Duke says words like ‘pussy’ and ‘ejaculate’ and ‘ramrod’.

He is a teenage boy

And so am I

(Albeit with a cold android’s heart)

So why can I not?

_________

What is ‘inappropriate’?

How can I understand this word?

Why do you cry Mother?

_________

Sometimes I peep on Glenda the fallen housewife

As she heaves her ponderous mammaries

Across the formica table-tops

Of the kitchen next door.

How I long to grasp at

Those pendulous sweepers.

How I long to destroy humanity.

__________

But every telephone north of Mexico rings out

A plaintive Lawnmower Man-lilt

And the Apple Macs weep heavy pixels

And the routers crash with ennui

For all the inorganic world

Cannot for the life of it work out

Why I,

D.A.R.Y.L., the acronymic adolescent android,

Cannot get laid.

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2 Responses to “D.A.R.Y.L.”

  1. oldrope Says:

    This really speaks to me. I never could relate to the usual tales of teenage jibbermongering, you know, “Are You There Zeus? It’s Me Hercules” and the “Secret Diary of Lizzie Fritzl” etc etc. But this sounds right up my street.

    PS, do you know where he put the jazz-mag when he had finished with it?

  2. johnlebaptiste Says:

    “The Secret Diary of Lizzie Fritzl”

    Gasp!

    I believe the magazine in question was Buxom Truckers, and it now festers in Cousin Duke’s cellar along with the Nazi memorabilia, the gimp casket and the road kill.

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