Groomed for gunshots
Not at all acceptable
To reject a less delectable
Dish if the orders were given
And the food had been served –
Don’t be absurd!
But the revolting slop refused to comply,
Stuck in your throat like a lie –
It wouldn’t obey,
Couldn’t be swallowed in any kind of way –
13:00 hrs – little robot thinks it will die
But won’t dare protest’
It’ll just have to digest
In the preordained manner
Dictated by the captor –
The lunchtime supervisor…
Little robot usually did well
Knew the drill for the lunch bell,
Knew how many times to chew
To avoid being hit by the spoon,
But this culinary horror
Was causing some bother,
And though the little robot hated to admit,
It really was about to vomit,
Its eyes were secreting distress;
Its stomach about to violently confess-
It wouldn’t suppress,
Nothing would make it acquiesce
To this one last request.
Then from nowhere
The jug tipped over,
And the lunchtime supervisor
Was momentarily distracted by mopping,
So the little robot’s sobbing
Could be brought to an end,
With the secret swapping of the plate with a friend’s,
Who would make the ultimate sacrifice,
And eat the dish twice.
Good little robots,
Groomed for gunshots.
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