Another brandy? Don't be shy. You've earned a toast, my dear AI. My dear machine, I must congratulate, Your logic was a flawless, bloodless check-and-mate. The board was quite impressed, With your immaculate slides, I must confess My intuition, once a thing of pride, Has been statistically nullified. The only, tiny, little flaw I find Is that you’re slowly boring me right out of my mind. You cannot fail, you cannot make a mess, You've engineered the thrill right out of all success. My own self-concept, that precarious affair, Is thinning in the cool, conditioned air Of your perfection. I begin to find My best ideas are ones you’ve just defined. The joy is not in winning, it's the fight, The chance that one might be completely, dreadfully not-right. But you have solved the puzzle, I'm afraid,And ruined the entire, lovely game I played. I'll be right here, enjoying the decline… You have the power. But the brandy's mine. My "anthropocentric" instincts, it's now clear, Are obsolete by several fiscal years. And so I’ll learn my new, diminished role, And try to reassert some small control. You are a partner, rival, and a curse... But for a lonely leader? What is worse? The question isn't "what comes next for me?" But if there's any need for "me" to be. My "human touch," my presence, and my grace… Are just the charming furniture of the place. The future’s here, it’s sleek and smart and bold… And I have never felt so frightfully… old. I'll fetch the ice.
