Like weighing machines
we stand tall and straight, or
lie flat and low,
taking on weights and stresses
transduced by the load cells
within us.
We are read as correct or as
needing adjustment, which can be a
simple process of fine-tuning or
complex calibration.
We can be tough and hard-wearing, or
delicate and easily damaged, stand in
corners, or are displayed conspicuously.
We generate hope and mirth, disappointment
and pain.
And when we have served our time
we move on, superseded by our
successors, who are more sophisticated,
more conscious of the exigencies of the
ambience around them.
We are remembered, revered, or put on the
scrap heap, reduced to the base chemicals
of our constituent elements.
When out time is up we stand motionless,
with our readings dead on zero, and then we
become something else.
