PAD - Day 3 - A Machine Poem - The Tin Man

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The Tin Man 

She flutters her eyelashes
feels them brush her cheek
as he turns the page of his paper
Shakes off the blow and turns
to a topic of the day – always
interested in the ins and outs
of fellow travelers on this blue
marble – she waxes until she
wanes almost out of breath
stops, pauses in that empty
kind of quiet – “what does he think?”
“not much” he grunts quietly …
at least she thinks that is what
he said – it is hard to hear
when suddenly – her ears
are clogged with falling
falling raining tears