by Nick Gisburne
We see your telee-vizee-on. We like.
The pictures. Tiny people, moving. Yes!
Our planet has it. Tell us, do you spike
The hated ones, the people you oppress?
Is this your sport? But why does no one die?
A separation comes before the kill.
They throw and kick and bounce a bladder. Why?
Your warriors need passion. Take a pill.
Pathetic vee-joes. These are worst of all.
Insanity is something we despise.
Your species will inevitably fall,
Except the young, sarcastic one. He tries.
We like your world, but not enough to stay.
The mothership defines your people ‘prey’.
