Dan sits high in the tower of glass,
Counting figures, trimming mass.
A whisper travels down the line
“Another round… this time it’s mine.”
He speaks of progress, polished and clean,
Of AI’s future and a workforce unseen.
Two years back he warned the crowd,
“It will leave many jobless,” he said out loud.
Now here he stands, the prophecy man,
Not stopping the storm..he is the plan.
People who built the network’s frame,
Names and faces..now numbers, just the same.
Their keycards flicker, the screens go black,
But profits rise, and no one looks back
Dan calls it efficiency, a modern shift,
But to those he cuts, it’s a stolen gift..
Security, dignity, years of sweat,
All erased in a corporate reset.
And when the machines finally hum in place
Where voices once filled a bustling space,
Maybe Dan will stand alone and see
That progress without people is poverty.
For a workforce falls not loud, but quietly
In email threads, and HR calls,
While a man in a tower signs and enthralls.
History won’t ask about stock or demand,
But who remembered the hands that built the brand.
And someday, far beyond Verizon’s span,
They’ll tell the story of a man named Dan
Who knew AI would hollow the land…
And led the march of the unemployed band
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