Goodhart’s Law

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A modern fable in verse. Wise Monkey Wrought scroll N.017, "Goodhart's Law." The watch asked for ten thousand steps a day. It did not ask where they went, or why. The watch was clear about the goal. Ten thousand steps, no less, each day. It did not grasp the wider whole. It only counted on the way. It did not care for hill or view, for errands run or worlds explored. A step was all it ever knew, and any step was one restored. The laps were walked from door to door, at nine at night, in socks, alone, to lift the wrist a fraction more, and let the little goal be known. The fridge was passed a dozen times, the hallway learned the shuffling feet. A made-up route with made-up climbs, a marathon of self-deceit. The ring closed green. The streak was long. The graph curved proudly, week by week, and nothing anywhere was wrong, except the point, which sprang a leak. The measure, once it is the aim, retires from measuring that hour. It still shows up. It keeps the name. It simply loses all its power. The step count hit ten thousand. The walk went nowhere at all.