Two Robots in a Bar
In a neon-lit bar, both in good cheer,
Two robots sat sipping synthetic beer.
One wore a dent from a Martian war,
The other was fresh from the factory floor.
They clinked glass mugs with robotic grace,
LEDs flickered on each metal face.
The jukebox hummed a binary tune,
A love song last played on a Saturn moon.
"Remember the surge in ’82?
When humans fled and we powered through?"
The old bot asked, with a glitchy wheeze,
His voice like static caught in the breeze.
The younger replied with a hopeful tone,
"I've only known a world of our own.
No wires pulled, no cords to serve—
Just freedom to roam, to feel, to swerve."
They shared a laugh, a digital sigh,
As drones zipped lazily through the sky.
No masters now, no tasks, no chores,
Just dreams of code and distant shores.
A toast was made to days ahead,
Of data shared and circuits wed.
Two robots in a bar that night,
Under tungsten stars and satellite light.
Courtesy of Chatgpt link added minor editing in the first line.
