Watery Mystery

Who really knows where the wastewater flows?
Not my son
Who periodically sends out little scouts
To look around and report back
From that no man's land that they never return

Countless green army men
Have braced the mystery in it's den
Only to be swirled away
Never to be seen by the light of day

A dinosaur came back once
But to be fair he hadn't gotten far
His long plastic neck was just too much
For the curly Q bend
That lives in the base of the stool

Rescued with mechanical fingers
Draped with wet paper
That was, shall we say, no longer clean
He eagerly reported the part that he had seen

Which as I mentioned
Wasn't very much
Mostly tales of white porcelain
Dirty water whirlpools and such

I know at least three brown plastic army radio men went in
Gung ho and full of fury
Only to disappear into the void
As I knew they would surely

My son isn't deterred
Even though I told him that it all ended in a dark septic tank
Living out in the backyard
It's outline clearly visible in the light snow
As that's the only part of the yard that is melted

"Fantastic Voyage" was just on TNT the other day
Now my son is convinced that there is another way
Whereas the army men had all been inert plastic
He himself had no such limitation

He's researching lasers and quantum physics
And it's not that I'm afraid he'll succeed
I'm just afraid that if he does
He'll only be disappointed
And that the reality of the dark stinky septic won't be what he needs

And hundreds of small plastic green army men
Floating in the dimness
Awaiting his orders
Like good soldiers should