Around this corner should be out of sight
of anybody looking from the road,
but wait: I see the glow of a red light.
There’s someone there who’s ready to unload!
A renegade machine, I have no doubt—
afraid of being what she ought to be.
Up in these hills, with no one else about,
she thinks she can elude her destiny.
Now I hear footsteps; this must be the gang.
They saw me turn this way, and they pursue.
This hiding place did not work out well. Dang!
This looks to be the last of you-know-who.
The blocks before me and the woods behind
leave left and right and nothing in between.
The first way I would be a cinch to find;
the other, I would meet a bad machine.
©2010 Louis A. Merrimac
Unload: Reproduce.
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