Time and motion

It seemed so natural then

Grey-haired men

Young girls in crisp white-coats

with clip-boards

stop-watches

taking notes

Watching

Counting steps from machine to crate

Noting toilet breaks

Figuring

Measuring every stretch and turn

Accumulating evidence of waste

Now there’s nothing left to measure

No people to observe

No observers

The scientific watchmen have cut their own throats

Bled-out into their starched white-coats

Their epitaph the silent sites

and hollow shells that fade

out of embarrassment

into the grave