and when conditions have been so violent that they've crashed
I was one of the Lucky Ones, until it happened. Well, weren't we all?
Exploring the parameters of that good fortune, unable to keep
from tempting fate. I was mid-air
when it happened, locked in on my craft, jammed my signal,
sugar glider shot down, in flames falling, screaming metal,
crash-landed behind Enemy lines.
Take another Chewit, survival is possible, even here,
though conditions are inimical to my kind,
toxic air. No signal can I send and none receive, the sky
metallic noise hostile to any communication. Resigned then,
to surviving, in the pathogens and mutoid waste, in the poison slurry,
the atavisms and the mockeries of nature, chewing plastics,
amid the folk fears
and the fevers, the mass panics, the grinning devils
and the fires.
Pandemonium, home,
for now.
Cheer up, what's the worst that could happen?