Too Many Machines

A NOTE BEFORE READING: For the past few years, I have participated in the Amazon Shorts program, through which readers could download my Seussian verse, Too Many Machines, for a mere 49 cents. Amazon discontinued the program a few weeks ago. The result? You get to read it for free. I hope you enjoy this modern fable, which I wrote back in 1987, when fax machines were the hot new gadget and cyberspace was an unknown frontier. The illustration is by David Ray Preston, Jr.

Too Many Machines

In a rather small town,
Only ten years away,
Lived a family of four
By the name of Luray.

And their house, like so many,
Was filled to the brim
With machines that would cater
To any old whim.

Beyond the old-fashioned kind—
Washers, hairdryers—
There were gadgets specifically
Made to use plyers,

And some that washed windows,
Others, the floor,
And one that was programmed
To answer the door.

There was one that could help
Pa Luray with his banking,
And one that was solely in charge
Of all spanking.

But Ma Luray rarely sought out
This machine,
For her sons behaved well—
Each at his own screen.

Yes, it's true, they were quiet,
The two Luray boys,
Quite at home with their buttons,
Far from all human noise.

Which is why Ma Luray
Seemed so worried one day
When the doctor device read
“One more on the way.”

She had not really planned it—
This third baby coming—
And the house was not ready
To lower its humming.

But the child would adjust
To mechanical times,
To the semblance of rattles,
Computerized rhymes.

“What else can be done?”
Posed Ma with a shrug.
“We cannot simply sweep all this
Under the rug!”

It was true, the new babe
Would just have to adapt
To this life of humanity
Terminal-trapped.

“It's the future! Advancement!
The great modern age!”
(Ma found strength as she typed it
And stifled her rage.)

And so she accepted
The upcoming child;
She put doubts behind her
And finally smiled

As she entered the news
That the family would read
When it traveled the house
At a modern-age speed.

They replied, stating “Good luck!”
And, “Way to go, Ma!”
“Get in touch if you need me;
Let's hear it for Pa!”

Yes, they took it quite well,
These three men in her life,
And with that, she foresaw
No unsettling strife—

So relieved, she returned to the
Business at hand:
Putting recipes into
A one-word command.

And Pa Luray went back
To his special goal:
That of alphabetizing
Last year's Super Bowl.

Yes, the household kept busy
With projects “profound,”
And they hardly took notice
As Ma became round,

But round she did get
And quite soon the day came
When Ma's machine keyed into Pa's
With: “GIRL/NAME?”

“A girl?” Pa typed back,
“What a nice change of pace!
I look forward to meeting her.
Let's call her 'Grace'.”

And so “Grace” she was called
In this house most advanced,
Where few songs had been sung
And no one had danced.

And she crawled through her first years
Avoiding her toys,
Alarmed by their shine
And impersonal noise.

She resisted the friendship
Of M-6, her “doll,”
Who knew all the state capitals
And was just 2-feet tall.

And she paid no attention
To the dynamic Rox—
A combination
Playmate/Activity Box.

No, Grace Luray simply
Wished to take no part
In these pastimes that seemed
To require no heart,

And she didn't know why,
But she felt quite alone—
Like a queen whose best friend
Is her fancy high throne.

Of course, Grace knew her family
Did not mean her harm
And she hoped her departure
Would not cause alarm

But regardless of impact
She felt she must go,
So she packed a small bag,
Tied it up with a bow.

And she took a last look
At her grand shiny room,
Said good-bye to her workstand,
Shook hands with her broom.

Then she rode down the staircase
At a slow, quiet speed,
And she left the big house
That she just didn't need.

She would be miles away
When the morning light came,
When persistent M-6
Wished to play a new game.

But where she had gone
Not a one Luray knew,
So Ma punched her PC
And asked for a clue.

“Grace?” asked the screen.
“Oh right, that's the child.
The third one, a girl,
The one who's so wild....”

“Wild?” Ma typed then.
“I would not call her that!
That's a word one reserves
For a dog or a cat.”

“No need for alarm, ma'am.
I just do my job.
But if you want my opinion,
That girl was a snob.

“She shunned my good company,”
Explained the machine.
“At first I assumed
An aversion to green.

“But no matter my color,
No matter my style,
I simply could not
Get that Grace-child to smile.”

Ma's PC then choked
As it processed a tear,
And Ma, sympathetically
Typed, “Oh, my dear!

“I had no idea that you
Gadgets could feel!
I don't suppose you have
A program for 'heal'?”

“No,” said the PC,
In printing grown dim,
“But it might help a bit
If you'd just stroke my rim.”

She met the request
As she sat there confused
And she filled up with guilt
For the ones she'd abused.

She recalled the dishwasher
She'd kicked in despair
And the remote control
She had thrown through the air.

It upset her to realize
She might have caused pain
To these manifestations
Of power and gain.

And she thought, as she sat there,
“I must be forgiven.
I don't want these things
Feeling unloved and driven!”

And while she considered
New ways to be kind,
The absence of Grace
Slipped right out of her mind....

+++

But Grace, in the meantime,
Was not in harm's way.
In fact, she was having
A marvelous day.

Though she'd walked a long distance
She felt quite at home
With the streams and the hills
And the freedom to roam.

She was calmed by the rustling
Of leaves in the trees,
And she joined in their song,
Which saluted the breeze.

She delighted in watching
The birds fly above;
Their chirping and cooing
Delivered her love.

Yes, Grace felt revived
By the fact that she'd found
A world that was settled
And sounds that were sound.

And she knew she'd be happy
To live there among
The creatures, the trees
And the right to be young.

She had made her decision
But still knew she must
Somehow contact her family
And ask for their trust.

So she walked further on
Looking out for some station
Devised to accommodate
Communication.

She soon spied a small house
All shaded by trees
And surrounded by flowers
That brushed 'gainst her knees

As she slowly approached
The front porch with its swing
And she looked for a doorbell
(Or something to ring).

But there was not one button,
Nor lever to pull
(It seems this quaint dwelling
Excepted the rule).

Still, Grace, so instinctive,
Soon figured the score,
And for the first time in her life
She knocked on a door.

Just a few seconds later
The door opened wide
And a sweet little lady
Said, “Hi, Come inside.

“What is it you need, dear?
The toilet's out back—
Or perhaps you are hungry;
Shall I fix you a snack?”

Grace smiled at her kindness
And said, “Actually...
I need to reach my parents;
To T.C.O.D.”

“T.C. Oh-what?”
Asked the lady, confused.
“I'm afraid these are codes
That I've just never used.

“I'd be happy to help you
However I can,
But this T.C. Oh-language
I don't understand.”

“They're initials,” said Grace,
Feeling suddenly shy.
“They stand for, I mean,
They mean, um—, I—, oh my...”

Grace then lowered her head
As it filled up with doubt,
And though she was embarrassed,
She tried not to pout.

“I guess I don't know
What they stand for—You see,
My knowledge is limited
To brevity.

“Pa says it's efficient,
But it makes me worried.
I mean, don't you think
That the world is too hurried?”

The old lady's eyes smiled
And she nodded her head
As the young girl explained,
“I guess that's why I fled....

“I just couldn't keep up
And I never had fun.
Things always seemed finished
Before I'd begun.”

“I understand, child,
For I ran away too.
But still there's a question
I must ask of you:

“Won't your Ma and Pa worry
And fear for your health?
Surely deep in their hearts
They know you are their wealth?”

“Oh, I know they mean well
And they love me and such,
And I would like to reach them
And tell them as much,

“But without that home unit
To which I referred,
I just don't know how
I can transmit a word.”

The old lady was struck
By this modern-day thought,
And she realized her ideas
Would all be for naught.

For the world that existed
Outside her small home
Had stolen life's textures
And turned them to chrome.

And the people, it seemed,
Had committed a crime
In their quest to control
What was Space and was Time.

These sad thoughts played about
In the old lady's head
'Til she noticed young Grace
Staring at the day-bed.

“What's that?” asked the child
Of an object quite small.
“Don't you know?” said the lady.
“Why, that's a rag doll— ”

“But what can it do?
Does it answer a quiz?”
“No,” said the lady.
“The rag doll just is.”

“Oh,” Grace said then,
In a voice that was coy.
“This rag doll, then, um,
Is it some kind of toy?”

“It's a toy if you wish,
Or it can be a friend.
For my dear, that depends upon
What you pretend.

“You see, back in my young days
One's vision ran free.
In your mind, you could be
What you wanted to be.”

These ideas touched Grace
As none ever had yet.
They made her feel happy
And helped her forget

All the bothersome factors
That drove her away
From the family who worked
When they needed to play.

And just as these thoughts
Helped to lift her confusion,
She realized that fleeing
Was not the solution.

“I guess I should go now,”
Grace said without warning.
“I'm sure that my mother's
Been worried since morning.”

The old lady was somewhat
Relieved by this choice,
Though she'd miss the sweet child
And it showed in her voice

When she quietly said,
“Then I shan't let you stall,
But I'd be very honored
If you'd take the rag doll.”

+++

Not one more word was spoken
Between these two friends
Who had crossed man-made time zones
And thus made amends

For the missteps conceived
By their ancestors all,
And so as Grace went home,
She said to the doll:

“You have something to say
Though you don't know a word,
And so I will speak for you
And you will be heard.

“We must help my family
To understand why
A doll like yourself
Is not programmed to cry.”

For Grace had discovered
A fact of creation:
That mankind's surroundings
Could stem from elation.

And if she was determined
To share her new joy,
It just might be done
Through the heart of one toy.

***The End***