Can AI write a good poem?

[Todd]

My first attempt at prompting an AI poem

Selling My Father’s Chair

We dragged his kingdom to the lawn
and priced it twenty-five.
My mother said to ask for more.
She spoke as if alive

was something furniture could be.
She brushed away the hair.
A woman parked beside the ditch
and asked about the chair.

“Does everything still work?” she asked.
I pulled the wooden handle.
The footrest rose. A quarter fell.
My mother searched the gravel.

The woman’s boy climbed in and stretched
his legs across the seat.
He asked if it could go back down.
His shoes were on their feet—

those little shoes with blinking lights
that nobody had stopped.
He kicked them twice against the arms.
My mother’s shoulders dropped.

I wanted him to spill his drink,
to split the seams with bread,
to leave his crayons in the springs,
to stand upon its head,

to wear it out before he learned
a room could hold its breath.
The woman asked, “Would you take ten?”
My mother answered, “Yes.”