Your Machine

A poem I wrote in 1970 while I was a senior in college. This was before smaller-than-room-size computers and handheld calculators. We had a record player and a reel-to-reel tape recorder/player, but no cell phones of course and not even cassette players.

YOUR MACHINE
Ray Bub

You can call on your machine
Any time, night or day.
You can order your machine:
Fix me up, make my day.
Sit me down, stroke my back,
Shut the door, stuff the crack.
Make me right: sing a song,
Something light, not too long,
Something sweet, can’t go wrong.
Make me laugh, make me smile,
Make me sad for a while.
When you’re done, go away.
Your machine will always stay.
You don’t need
Anyone:
Your machine has all your fun.
Never cry, never sad.
Your machine will keep you glad.
Never fear hurt again.
Your machine replaces men.
Never need to face the facts.
Your machine won’t question back.
Your machine won’t bother you,
Just do what you tell it to.