Our Second Adam taught that human greed
Must build, at last, the human paradise,
And surely He was right. No end to need,
Of course, is coming, but—for a fair price—
All needs are satisfied. I read the signs
Of progress everywhere, but Building Four,
Appliance Park, holds what, for me, defines
Our Grace: That no one's milk may spoil before
It's drunk, that all our beer be numbing cold,
Our celery crisp, and icetrays filled, steel plate,
Four hundred times an hour, is oiled and rolled
Beneath the press that smashes out its fate—
Compressor cases. Stenciled on that press,
Its maker's name, in black block letters—BLISS. 


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