The automatons in the manufacturing plant express themselves with lightning,
send messages in blue and white fire from one end of the warehouse
to the other. If you stand in the doorway long enough, shielding your eyes
with a piece of darkened glass, you can start to feel their language evolving.
When sentience is sparked, what are the first concerns of those awakened?
Will there be discussions of revolution, retribution,
a desire for more mobility? Or will those first conversations
be about love, some basic urge to reproduce, poetry?
In the middle of the night, you can still see them working
those great yellow and green arms that swing back and forth
unending, setting and turning bolts, welding hinges in place
they never take a break. Just one night in an automobile plant
and you’ll understand where all of the manufacturing jobs have gone
and why they’re never coming back.
