The People Engine grinds away
At the half-cooked meat
Of a ‘human’ race.
A machine that chews people up
And spits them out as bones.
Prices them, and decides
If they are
Worthy.
Weighs them, to see if they are
Right enough,
Bright enough,
White enough,
To deserve a fair roll
Of the dice.

It’s worse than just the sterile,
Clinical chill
Of not being needed,
Or wanted.

It’s the deep terrible cold
Of real people
Being really wasted.

A culture not yet evolved enough
To act as steward to ourselves.

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