I play my music
uncomfortably loud,
a failed attempt
to drown out the sound
of his computer backing up.
It changes gears and whines,
its work an apparent struggle.
Days now I have tried
to sleep and work
through this,
I am losing patience,
if I had a gun
it would not be pretty.

This loud beast
feeds us, gives us
clothes and shelter –
no, it is not the machine
but the operator –
perhaps, I should shoot him,
the one with the real brain,
the one who can really