The Machine

The machine keeps rolling things down the line at me: old shoes, fallen men, failed dreams. The machine keeps telling the same stories and when I lose interest it screams at me. The machine keeps yelling and yelling— it’s asking more than I can give even after I’ve fallen. The machine after an outburst smiles and says it’s my friend— I’ve heard that line before. The machine asks if it can take me into its confidence but it’s already talked about me behind my back. The machine says I can never leave but I walk out the door. I sit at home and read. but hear a deep murmur when I close my eyes— the machine is calling me.