Thank you very much,
Mr. Finger Pointer,
I see your high
score & know you’re
only going up. Friend,
you might think,
but I know better:
I’ve seen the saucers.
Code switcher in your
swishy robes, you press
a button & we must stand
on our heads or be
vaporized.
Nobody knows
because he peered over
the junkyard wall:
it’s the final countdown,
our big finale when
the atomic clock hits zero &
doomsday scenarios
yield blood & dust & no
actors in furry vests
driving good old Fords
into battle. Take it easy.
This will only hurt
for a second, which equals
43 years on your world,
your world is ours
now because we have collected
all of the requisite
bottle caps & the fine print
says we are eligible
despite our lack of basic
human empathy.
We have some blankets
full of disease that we were told
are used to purchase real
estate on this planet.
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