The machine appeared
In the distance, singing to itself
Of money. Its song was the web
They were caught in, men and women
Together. The villages were as flies
To be sucked empty.
God secreted
A tear. Enough, enough,
He commanded, but the machine
Looked at him and went on singing.
R.S. Thomas, Other
(Thomas also has a poem titled “The Other.” This one I found in a Tweet, concluding that The Other couldn’t be, in context, what my muse was referring to.)