The Machine Wins

Three dollars in the slot.

I pressed the button for a snack.

The item spun. Then it got

caught halfway back.

I pressed again. And again.

The machine stayed silent and still.

My money was gone. And then

the machine forgot my will.

There's a particular rage

that comes from losing to a thing

that doesn't even know. It's a cage,

a machine that will always win.

Just glass. Just metal. Just cold.

Just gears that don't care

if I stand here growing old,

if my money disappears there.

I hit the side. Not hard.

Just hard enough to feel something.

Just hard enough to leave a scar

on something that feels nothing.

The snack hangs there inside.

Untouched. Unearned. Too high.

And I walk away with my pride

and the certainty that machines never lie.