Broken pencil poetry. Broken?

Broken?
18th of July 2022


Its back is bent,
Its shoulders are hunched
And its head is bowed down -
Is it tired, defeated,
... Broken?
Sitting at the table,
It is maybe a little bit of all.
But more than that,
It is hunched over in concentration,
Its fingers careful and deft,
Working without hesitation.

The last rays of the setting sun
Glimmer off its metallic skin,
Shine into its optic sensor eyes
And warm its cold brow.
Yet it sees and feels none of it,
Applying itself to its task,
Tinkering away
At the small device in its hands.

If you saw it, perhaps you'd understand.
The robot with the metal flesh
And artificial brain
Is sitting hunched over the workbench,
An empty cavity gaping in its chest -
It's working tirelessly
At fixing its own heart.