From Amazon on Monday I got a vid,
And wondered at all of the lessons it hid,
About people and boxes and imperious chips,
The mingling of robots and fast-churning hips,
In warehouses huge that would park jumbo jets,
With their shelving and time sheets and workaday sweats.
You plunk down your e-dough and imagine it split
'Tween the picker and packer, for Jeff B a bit,
And on to the studio, for the actors and scribe,
The director and gaffer and whoever's subscribed,
And let's not forget the film's backers and shills,
Who all live so sweet in them Hollywood Hills.
All done in a blink with the only thing left,
Just a statement with numbers of all heart bereft,
But quickly with joy are those cold stats infused,
Waved with triumph by the artist enthused,
Or with a rare smile by the top-rich received,
In a world where numbers are all that's believed.
Well, yes, it's a business and does much to disrupt
The shops and dealing of the quite uncorrupt,
The folks who fill downtowns and pay rent and tax,
Who never deserved to receive the e-axe,
Which leaves one wondering if there's any safe harbor,
'Cept for the fireman, the cook and friend barber.
Yes, there's some history in an Amazon buy,
Which ends with strides of the delivery guy,
A true account 'tis of our life and times,
Of loving works joined to vast fortunes and grimes,
Of molecules dispensing misery and cash,
Of acquisitive folks o'er the planet they thrash.