Poetry of Issue #8 Page 64

The game is fair play
But sometimes we run out of fun.

“It’s just a game,” they say.
Some games are more than we bargained for.

I shy away from games like a poorly-trained horse.
A poorly-trained horse shies away from me.

A poorly-trained horse is shy.
And who can blame it

For hiding behind its mother’s
Skirts, or skulking on the outskirts

Probably wearing a beard?
And the machines play on.

But I showed up anyway, dressed in blue.
Some games are more than we bargained for.

Skulking in corners, probably wearing a beard?
As for the machines how come they couldn’t

Stick with rakes? They were a lot more fun,
And a lot quieter. Be fun, be gun. The guns have begun.

Actually, they’ve been gunning
For a long time. What or who in the world

Can make them stop? As I was blue and
The robots were here to stay, I declined to rsvp,

But I showed up anyway, dressed in blue.
Professor Slobberdash was not amused.

Ian Ganassi