I speak to machines

amidst the whir of
background machines, I heard a voice
so human, and yet
built somewhere in some
hollowed out factory

as the washer spun
I saw myself
engulfed in flames, taken out
by a torrent of soiled clothes
blasting out the machine like a cannon

is this my future?
I thought
being human meant more
than adding numbers, calculating
the odds of failure

in the whir of
tired machines, I heard someone 
speaking, describing
the color of the morning sun
to someone on the phone