All the toe catchers
The leg breakers
The ankle snappers
The stumps in the yard
They don't stand a chance
Against my motorized beast
It turns and churns
Whizzes and whirs
Bright yellow like a school bus
Twenty seven spinning teeth
Turning like an inevitable event
At 600 rotations per minute
That's RPM my friends
Apply the gas
And the yellow beast roars
Levering it's spinning snout
Into whatever is in front of it
A big yellow hog
Looking for truffles
Under every stump in the yard
Leaving piles of dirt and wood chips in it's wake
I feed it not scraps
But refined petroleum products
Not only is it what it likes
It's what it loves
Whatever will this wonderful thing do
When all the dead dinosaurs
Are sucked out of the ground?
Will it adapt to survive?
Perhaps it will go to a museum
And stand in a static display
Of a bald fat man
Commanding it to eat his stumps
More likely it will be recycled
Into something more useful
In the brave new world
That it has cleared all the stumps from
It's metal bits scattered
Inserted into hover cars
Rocket belts
And laser pistols
The soul of the mighty yellow hog
Will survive unscathed
Of that I am as sure
As of the fact that I anthropomorphize everything
The petroleum swilling piggy
Will be rooting happily
For precious things
In the fields of stumps
That surely populate
The heaven of it's choosing
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