The Angler Ship
Tracing down the aeropath and to the landing zone,
Comes a stately silvery craft from distant lands unknown.
The attendants stand at the ready to lend a helping hand,
All poised and buttons polished in an air of state so grand.
A metallic voice issues forth from a speaker at the gate,
Reminding any occupant that the time is growing late.
A single tone vibrates from the ship as its sole reply,
But no one at the aeropath knows the reason why.
Then one of the attendants is selected to rap upon the hull,
And he so politely obliges with a knock that echos rather dull.
But there is no response from the crew or passengers inside,
And everyone is curious about what it is they hide.
Are they hauling contraband or are they sensitive to the light?
Will they continue sitting there until the coming night?
Then a hatchway opens up and a lone figure moves into view,
And he signals for the porter’s help and then signals again for two.
Two bright and shiny men obligingly enter through the door,
Completely unaware of what it was that they were needed for.
Then the door snapped shut to reveal this mission was so cruel,
They only landed long enough to take on needed fuel.
Copyright © Tony Lane | Year Posted 2011
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