DECEMBER 2006 / JANUARY 2007 – NO. 11

Our Hero Has a Small Problem

by Peter Twickler

Poetry.


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The planet of my enemy
stretched beyond the air-conditioned
TV room, the cave,
Into which I had slipped,
as wily as a wasp,
and daubed and wadded my secret fort
from cushions and easy-chairs.
But it collapsed as I was testing a secret exit.
so, I grabbed my laser-sword and my force-field
generator, unafraid,
and headed out past the Chevy in our docking-bay,
ready to fight my way through my neighborhood
to the throne of the Space-Tyrant.

As I came out, the stunning slough
of the full summer sun,
the weapon of my enemy,
washed me out and I blinked
suddenly here, on the blacktop of the driveway.
I rallied, ready to fight that ray-gun,
find the Tyrant and fly home safe.
But a wasp nest had fallen
from the roof of the garage
and squashed on the edge of the lawn.
round like my own head,
it boiled with throatless larvae.


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