Mister Robot Holds Missus Robot In His Hands But He Might Be A Washing Machine

This uninteresting machine already told you once
Not to iron its shirts that way.
You will get it again.  I will inflict this violence
And you will walk home damaged again
To iron more shirts.

But some other bruised collar has found its way
Into my hand, ruffled—
The dryer is broken again and that incessant chirp
Has driven me to fix it.  It runs, but only barely.
There is iron in my blood and veins in my hands
And in your face and blue already you ask again
That I deny you air,
But I cannot deny anything.

Mechanically, we will do this again.