Originally published in Planet Magazine No. 35 (September 2002).
Lieutenant Cooper has the deck,
he don’t take no lip.
No stalk-eyed son of Rigel dreck
will make it through the Slip.
They say there’s talk of peace back home,
of giving up the Moons.
In the oxy-breather domes
they call that Looney-Tunes.
This ship patrols the battle zone
to keep worm-riders out.
When humans claim space for their own,
they claim it with a shout.
A warning siren starts to wail,
a tell-tale starts to chime.
He thinks “How like a walking snail,
to fight with sploding slime.”
Yes, there it is, a wobble-goop
just off the starboard beam.
He grabs it with the pressor-scoop
and throws it back Between.
He laughs at what the coms reveal,
they caught it in the gut.
He spits, and says, “Whose turn to deal?
It’s Pilgrim? Then I’ll cut.”
Poem © 2002 by Nancy Wilcox
Artwork © 2002 by Ehrad
