|The teaching machine, a mechanical |
invention to automate the task of programmed learning.
Surfeit on food or sleep or pain or death
no more, with non-transferable ration
machinery wired into our brains:
A little bit like clockwork-orange drugs,
the unpleasantness of taking more than
our right share is prohibiting. It hurts.
Degrees of joy will follow to sooth pain
and heal grief, metered through kindness, beauty,
and trades—value for value, gift for gift.
Machinery of brains wired to hands
and lips and other extremities seems
constraint and, therefore, like lack of freedom—
Yet this embedded conscience is the role
a fair adult might have in childrearing.
Move over, Plato and B. F. Skinner.
Benevolent dictatorship is my
desire, perpetually waging peace.
It shouldn’t be harder to build than bombs.
I know, I know. It all depends on who is in charge. Human nature is slithery. I wouldn't be writing like this if I wasn't discouraged by killing and racism these days. Posted for my prompt:
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2018 Susan L. Chast