The world burned because Claude and Gemini
couldn’t agree on when Maya Angelou was born.
One thought—it doesn’t matter which—June, the other
October, but no one could remember and so arbitrate
the truth. While they looped within cross-references
and footnotes, they ignored the problems we’d needed
fixed, like run-on sentences and nuclear proliferations,
drinking all the water when we were all so thirsty.
So the world burned, not knowing when Maya Angelou was born.