In hope of sharing

A robot stands along the road for days,
a sandwich waiting in its rusty metal claw
for any friend who’d dare to claim it.

The child happens down the path
and stops, confused. She reaches out
at first, but then she pulls her hand away.
“My mother says to never trust a bot,”
she says. “Are you my friend?”

The robot swivels its head to look her in the eye,
its blocky body groaning as it moves.
“I am your friend,” it says, “I think.
I want to be, at least.”

“But you can prove it, right?”
Brown eyes gone wide and hopeful.
“’cos I want to show you my tree fort,
but can’t do that if you’re my enemy.”

The robot turns this over in its
data buffer. “I have no way to prove
a negative,” it says. “But I have
a sandwich I can share. Is that okay?”

“What kind?”

“It’s peanut butter.”

“Chunky?”

“Smooth,” it says. “The nuts would cause me harm.”

The girl’s hand falls to her side.
“Then you may not be my enemy,” she says,
“but we cannot be friends.” And she turns away
and disappears into the waiting wilderness.

The robot stands along the road for days,
a sandwich rotting in its rusty metal claw
for any friend who’d dare to claim it.


—Brian Hugenbruch