Some Machines
Some machines aren’t good for me,
Though for some others they might be;
For they bring out a side of me,
Which other fold had best not see.I had forgotten all that part,
In years of quiet talk through art –
Those tiny aspects of machines
Far more precise than I have been.I guess I’ll get there in the end,
But why should I around them bend?
Like new remotes, whose buttons push
The buttons of my nerves too much.I used to handle detailed dials,
And buttons, switches – us all with style;
But now they just infuriate,
And put me on a path I hate.They think that more in smaller space
Is better – like it is the case
That they must serve us one and all
With one machine, which must be small.That logic says seven billion folks
Should all be serviced by these blokes;
Like we’re some sort of tiny chip
Transistorized so we’ll all fit.Enough! We need things big and bold,
As eyes grow weary, we grow old;
With age we differentiate,
So give us each one tool that’s great.navigation