assembly line
by elle scorcho

I am disassembling my heart.
I will be more efficient as a human machine.
Blood and muscle are no more than parts.

I shower at 4:30 AM; at 5:33 AM, depart.
Ordered processes and careful checks keep engines from breaking, lives from tearing at the seams.
I am disassembling my heart.

An hour later, the line starts.
I am teaching my body to adapt; it remembers. My movements are precise, clean.
Blood and muscle are no more than parts.

Sixty seconds at a time, pieces are emptied from their carts.
I leave a piece of you locked in every glove box, it seems.
I am disassembling my heart.

I try to keep the present away from the past, a thing apart.
There are no windows; this factory is not made for dreams.
Blood and muscle are no more than parts.

Monotony and repetition are a necessary art.
I envy these simpler, painless machines.
I am disassembling my heart.
Blood and muscle are no more than parts.

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