Limericks

A.I. knows my pulse, weight, and hue,

But cares not a whit what I do,

I’m old, not extinct—

Yet the bots have me linked

To dentures and discount shampoo.

My feed thinks I’m fading, I fear—

The vids in my stream are quite clear.

With pills for my knees,

And ads when I sneeze,

It must think the end’s drawing near.

The bots now predict my decline,

With charts that are frightfully fine.

“Your gait’s off a beat,

The future? Obsolete.

But your metrics are simply devine.”