The bygone garment
befalls around her flesh;
in this dress the bride
looks like the bird trapped inside
and her own cage.
Today, the air streams in sepia.
Our heads are steampunk.
The wedding occurs at
an abandoned carport
before an old Ford – both
a junk and a god.
The bride and the bird within
whirr, rev and ching.
The movement of time ticks.
I raise a toast to the future child.
May it be a good robot.
Kushal Poddar
Robot Edward Bateman
.