Through the crackling transistor
oozes a warble of a voice now
pitched by computer, that heartless
ace capable of striking out the side.
“Welcome to the future,” mutters
the host as if sleep-talking nonsense
to a nurses' convention in Toledo
after a five-martini lunch meeting
expounding on the advantages
of cobalt precision available only
through the awesome power
wielded by technological gadgetry.
The flicker of the overhead bulb
taunts my disbelief as if explaining
my new role of expendability,
the robot caretaker’s walkthrough.
This new god doesn’t need my
voice singing praises to his holy
magnanimity since the binary
code inside lays out self-glory
as humans bask in the marvel
of action without subtlety.
Machines never get the jokes
I level against my mortality
and I grow weary of trying to
explain the nuance to microchips
programmed for brutality
at this moment of culling.
Not even King David could
redeem the lot of us now
with his baritone bribery or
that dead-shot aim with a sling.
Ha ha... Sharp observations. Like the conductor on a subway train announcing over the intercom, "The train will be stationary for the next half hour... Thank you for your cooperation." As if we had a choice.