I opted for the praying mantis arms.
Insurance only covered one procedure.
My coworkers took more strategic routes:
Melissa’s new eyes’ inbuilt dimmer feature
eliminates the need for sunglasses
and cuts down strain from artificial light.
The auto-zoom enhances tiny fonts
when reading corporate emails late at night.
I think Paul went with translator implants.
That’s useful, with our branches overseas.
I overhear his constant conference calls
in fluent Arabic and Japanese.
Renee just reinforced her nerve endings –
a boring option, even for Renee.
I sympathize; I’ve felt my own nerves fried
from eight hours in a desk chair every day.
I caught them at the water cooler, all
comparing upgrades, flashed a smile at Paul
who turned and dropped his greeting in alarm—
I’d opted for the praying mantis arms.
I doubt my typing speed will be improved
by spines and tubercles designed for killing,
my social life will need time to adjust
(though lovers have confessed they find them thrilling),
they don’t do much to put clients at ease,
nor open up potential for advancement,
and cross-department gossip travels fast—
I’ve heard the jokes regarding my enhancements—
but there are some joys spreadsheets can’t contain
and I would be surprised if they’d yet found
that brave employer who’d, on seeing me,
bandy a word like “severance” around.
| Katy Bond is a writer of poetry and fiction. Their work has appeared in Strange Horizons, petrichor, and elsewhere. She is eternally grateful for the support of her fiancée and their dog (half chihuahua, half miscellaneous. |  |