After work he liked to walk the muddy paths
around the lake and up the man-made hill. 
Survey the scene. The sprawling warehouse 
where he earned his pay squatting on land
where once the wheels had spun, conveyors
rolled and great buckets of black rock 
were lifted from miles below the ground. 

Where his dad and grandad, and his dad before,
had earned their pay. And he had too,
a flash of time before it was all cleared
away, cleansed and sanitized. The days
when he was married, when they worked
in heat and dust, watched each others’ backs.
Now he was just a robot with skin and flesh,
waiting to be replaced by one that didn’t 
need to sleep. That wouldn’t feel the wind
at the top of this hill, that had no memories.

One that fulfilled orders 
and never needed to be fulfilled.