Things are looking bad for my natural I,
Will it be enough to keep me cool and fly?
This with rampant AI in house, shows and work,
In how we brush teeth and the coffee we perk,
Checking my habits and sending me mail:
“If you don’t massage gums, your teeth will sure ail.”
.
Or take my courtship of the splendid Celeste,
Who asked why our restaurants weren’t the best.
“Jane said if they aren’t, I should ghost you right now.”
I asked who Jane was, then came the ka-pow:
“LoveAdvisor-dot-AI, my guru online.”
The sum of my data, it seemed, failed to shine.
.
Ghosted and hungry I bought red wine and chops,
Drowning my sorrows in big spending at shops,
Then my cell tooted with messages for wine:
Red, white and rosé, from dishwater to fine,
Then barbecues, tongs, and the best cuts to grill:
All in celebration of my chops a la Phil.
.
I went to the office and wrote a fine app,
My boss said he wants seven more in a snap,
“Impossible!” I said. “Nobody could do that.”
But his new AI wiz has ten-a-day down pat,
Ordered by other AIs who need new code,
Make deals on the fly, and their bosses don’t goad.
.
Lost my girl and my job, my life’s an open book,
So now I get ads for “the poor man’s rich look.”
Yes, the bots have all sensed that ol’ Phil’s in descents,
And send me ratings of the top sidewalk tents,
And recommend with pix the best neighborhood,
Huddled with the growing AI joblesshood.
