II.

“A poet. You’re the first I’ve interviewed,”
The woman said behind her shiny desk.
“You show a certain zealous attitude,
And your approach is novel, I confess.
They value that in this place, so maybe
You could outline any experience
You feel would make the promised difference
You like to claim.” She gestured to him. “Please.”

The poet coughed into his fist.
“If I could start,” spoke he,
“By thanking you for all your time
In meeting here with me.
As you see from my resumé
Experience is lacking,
But I have drive and verve and pep,
I’m eager to get cracking.
The problem is, as I see it,
AI lacks moral guidance.
I do believe that poetry
Could supersede the science.
If you employ me here to teach
Your binary some verse,
It’s obvious the public’s poor
Judgment will soon reverse.”

The lady at the desk sat back
And rubbed behind one ear.
“You haven’t really made your case,”
She said, “for working here.
Our clients – banks and hospitals – 
Need solid guarantees
Our AI won’t go off the rails
Like bad sci-fi movies.
For Hitler cherished Shakespeare,
Stalin loved Bulgakov.
You can read poems and still be
Morally…slightly off.”

“Indeed,” the poet swiftly said,
“But that’s appreciation.”
He rubbed together sweaty palms.
“I’m speaking of creation!
How can you write a limerick
While harboring ill will?
How can you pen a pastoral
And yet still want to kill?
The multitude of benefits –
Artificial and real – 
Are plain to see! Please hire me.”
And thus ended his spiel.

The lady thoughtfully tapped on the desk.
“Alright,” she said, “I am almost persuaded.
Report to me the Monday after next.
But I warn you: performance will be graded.
I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.
But if don’t deliver boy, you’re out.”