**a Redbull induced poem**
In great stormy clouds they came
with squishy green feet and black eyes.
Little big heads bobbing like dandelions
as the procession continued to the
center of our small town.
The Head head appeared from the middle
and took his place behind the microphone.
He waved his hands about and made demands
and threats that all must submit
to his 3 feet 8 inch stature.
People gathered and C-Span spread
his message throughout the land.
TV tubes and grainy YouTube videos
flooded the airwaves as Mr. Head Head
spouted and spat and quivered and shook
and laid out their entire agenda.
When he finished, the other heads all
bobbed in agreement and you could hear the
wet splat of hundreds of squishy green feet
on the cool black asphalt. Hundreds of black
eyes darted around waiting for our own applause.
But it never came. Mr Head Head’s words were lost
in translation. Would we rebut? Rebut what?
No one understood a single damned word. We
all just stared back them, like big, dumb cows.
Like cows chewing cud in a green field, staring at
the spaces where cars had stopped and honked hours earlier.
Big bobbing heads bowed, exasperated hands
hung heavily as squishy green feet plodded back
through the alleys to their ship, parked in an empty
baseball field. The door closed, the smoke plumes rose
and the flashy craft lurched upwards. One small child,
amused by the ordeal, began crying as his bright blue
balloon soared upwards after the ship. As if it might somehow
escape this life. As if it somehow understood. But it didn’t.
That would be nonsense. Helium is simply lighter than air.