|Watch me for a little while!|
Viviparous, they so primitive,
entombed they are in womb of glass,
he smiles and shakes hard the jar
of funny little human things.
At five, a passel as a birthday gift,
he had watched them breed and grow and thrive,
watched awe-struck as procreation
brought alive his little alien nation,
housed as they were in vivaria
that sat pulsating on his bedroom desk.
He had marveled at their industriousness,
their efforts to achieve betterment,
yet this noble occupation bent/
thwarted by inherent base
need/desire of war,
a slaughter of its own innocents.
He sadly observed that they did not value life
yet this knowledge served his purpose well.
No longer would the surplus feed
beasts that slithered belly down,
the budding entrepreneur would spice them dead,
create a pickle for discerning connoisseurs.
He shook the jar again, watched them swish
as if they had become some sad foetuses
awaiting birth from pickled death.
He picked one out and with bated breath
awaited its deliciousness
and disappointed not he marveled at his own creation.
Big taste, big bank balance, he sighed happily,
Garf: quondam loser? Yes – now bloody genius!
Björn at dVerse has us writing sci-fi. The above is a re-write of a micro story (that lies in a now dormant blog) I wrote in May 2011, a re-write in the form of poetry.
I love sci-fi – well not the rubbish stuff – and read Isaac Asimov when a spotty teenager. Loved watching the Outer Limits, The Twilight Zone and Dr Who. I loved them because they scared me silly. (I had a plan should a UFO land when I out alone – I would run head first into the nearest brick wall…!)
The micro story and thus the poem are based on the notion that this universe and this Earth on which we live, exists in some distant galaxies equivalent of an ant farm…
Image: courtesy of Wikimedia Commons