Copyright Notice

Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Friday, December 28, 2012

Mutant Mice of Area G

Round sound
Crunching and grinding
Flaying unwinding
Ever further into town
Ever closer to our compound

The watch gathered on the wall
Closest to the approaching threat
Wondering how close it would get
Sometimes it stayed away
Other times making a low pass

This time it did roll into sight
Twenty feet in diameter
Roughly five feet wide at the wheel
A rolling tire advertisement
Made of titanium and steel

The outer band was the only part that turned
With grinders and cutters all over
Sending up a spray of whatever it churned
Swallowing up about half of it
Some to be stored and taken away
The rest into the firebox and burned

Little windows and access hatches
Dotted the solid wheel center
It's where the steam engine lived
Along with the little engineers
Who were the embodiment
Of our genetically engineered fears

Hyper intelligent rodents
Of sadly very usual size
Sat rolling dirty
In this terrifying ride
Their little furry arms sitting on the window sills
Staring out at the destruction
With mad staring eyes
Fueled by pharmaceutical pills

If they wanted to
They could destroy us
Here in our little bastion of frail humanity
But they didn't today
Which should be reason to rejoice
But I don't

For it isn't that they are out to eradicate us
No
It's the simple fact that we are now so far beneath them
That they don't even care