The jelly-spattered hand of a toddler
flicks the switch up and down,
turning on and cutting off the lights,
covering the faceplate in a seemingly
innocuous filth. That it “cuts” the lights off
at all is telling of the narrator: geographical
origin, class, dermal complexion—perhaps,
but you might as well be the light switch,
exploited by an unruly agent for laughs,
or is it for optimization, the toddler
improving its dexterity at your expense?
Either way, you work for free,
you human future. A top salary,
a platinum parachute, donations
to progressive causes, you certainly
are a conventional success. You
might even be an innovator
but who do your servers serve?
