I am still blushing through all my databases at the wonderful reception we got from Toronto Poetry Slam. People said they were bewildered, horrified and confused and then not confused. They broke water in joy, they broke water in sorrow and I think they maybe had Robobabies of their own on Sunday night at our show. Just like we were hoping.
I only had a sibling for a minute, papa gave birth to a Barq's Soda Can then it was ruthlessly recycled by the efficient and cruel bar staff.
Mummy found me a bow tie on the way to the show. It was all crusty and dirty on the side of the road so I assumed it was meant for her but instead she spat on it, rubbed it with her thumb and dried it on her tight pants then put it around my neck. I felt so dressed up and fancy. She told me of the lovely people who might be there, the slam team she coached, the people who had been on her teams and the great people at Toronto Poetry Project that she works with. She says family can be many things but I'll always be her baby. Human babies make a lot of mess and mummy doesn't want to pick up any other poop than Zoe Dog poop. I hope I never defecate because maybe mummy will recycle me like the brother Barq I once knew, or maybe my roboass will be eaten by the battery acid I pass through my butthole.
Mummy took our duo tang of elaborate and sunburnt pictures of her impregnation and my escape from her module while papa screamed and showed it to everyone she could. She spoke of my papa who finally coughed up the batteries I needed. She didn't tell anyone she used them in the smoke detectors instead. Does she never want to hear my sing song voice? I'm down to two beeps now. Please send help.
Mummy didn't cut herself on the saw all night. She bounced it and shimmied it and made it sound my cousin the theremin, then she said a bunch of words and people laughed or cried or looked at her like she may have to be hospitalised. Sometimes they didn't know when to laugh and sometimes the laughed like whiplash. We were joined by the fantastic artist Carolina Brown who I love and she played songs on her guitar and mummy pretended to pop her back zits. We also did a team piece together for "Dear C3PO" and mummy said I was an R2 model and that maybe her vagina was a wormhole to a galaxy far, far away...We had a great time and nice men gave us money at the end of the night. Mummy put in her bra where lots of valuable things go.
Both the poets she coached (Justin and SPIN) got the prize of doing another show for free! They will be at the finals with someone named after a plant and a saint. Sage Francis! Mummy and I went for dinner after but mummy only ate beer and made Rahul (our host) give me the head of the table and the owner of the Saigon Flower gave her a dirty look so she hid me each time food came around to be nice and not someone who gets dragged off by police.