Strange Views from the Front Porch

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I’m not sure,
I want to spend Time,
and dimension,
sitting on my front porch,
I usually have problems when I do,
just reading the newspaper.

I don’t know what I’ll see,
or encounter,
when I look over the top of it,
usually something strange,
or unusual,
or both.

Space Vikings,
lost in route,
along with some guy,
odd-looking chap,
called ThunderBunny !

Tribbles, and small robots,
wandering around the front yard,
eating the flowers,
all night,
until just before dawn.

I just get the flowers,
from the variety store,
nothing special,
just called,
[ methinks… ]
the Twig-lit Zone.

I’ve had a bunch of folks,
wearing different colored shirts,
attack my lawn mower,
shouting something about how klingy it was,
which chased them all about,
it not liking pain.

A red t-shirt,
left shredded,
upon the lawn,
nothing else left,
nevermore.

I have had robots,
and syncophants,
ask me questions,
or make speeches,
in languages by the score,
but I don’t understand them,
they mostly go away,
except for the ones,
who want hair and skin samples,
from regions,
I don’t want them to explore !

Ya never can tell,
what will drop by,
when I sit out on the front porch,
and read my newspaper,
and the neighbors are beginning to talk,
something about a train rail.

Some have moved away,
at least,
I see them get themselves,
and their belongings,
into moving vans,
yet, and yet,
there are lights,
flickering around in those homes,
next door.

Police tell me,
there is no crime,
near my humble abode,
several robots,
check for legality,
then nothing is heard more.

I tells ya,
its enough to give me the jitters,
just thinking about sitting out there,
Slan to the left,
Slan to the right,
and Slan in the center,
running from the EtherBunnies,
their electric probes,
held high !

I’ll try one more time,
to read my newspaper,
and hope for no untoward instances,
to pester me while I read !

[ sizzle pop ! ]
[ goes the former newspaper, ]
[ to metallic dust ! ]

And there,
just outside my picket fence gate,
looming,
is a Bolo Mark MX !

“Jim ! You silly person !
That was not a newspaper,
but an interdimentional,
time-track,
backwards and forwards,
FTL matrix !
Go get your eyes checked !
You need new sun glasses !”

“Oh,” I said.

“The future was kinda bright,
at that.”

That explains it,
I guess I better get,
my steam-powered bicycle out,
from under my up on stilts home,
and travel over to the grocery store,
and get a real newspaper,
right now !

And the Bolo,
did vanish in the night,
shouting,
“You leave those interdimentional,
time-track,
backwards and forwards,
FTL matrixes alone !
Forever more !”

I agreed,
and it vanished quietly,
like a boojum,
in a tree.

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Categories Poetry, science fiction

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