Groomed for Gunshots

Regimented robots

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…

Gastric brutaliser.

 

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

(Gastric brutaliser)

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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