ACROSTIC POETRY // Droid Antediluvian

Perambulation is something that featured a lot in Iron Uncle’s
Upbringing. His travelling oilcan never once dried up.
Rarely did his joints give out or his suspension develop clanky carbuncles.
Geez, he skipped up hill and down dale like a pumped-up pup!
And did you know he could bench press a thousand Tiny Tins if he really wanted to?
Tinderellas were thrilled with his seductive cast-iron buns.
Oh, if only he could return to those halcyon days and youth anew,
Rekindle what used to be instead of chased for conversion by rumpty nuns.
Years roll past like parts on a conveyor belt, and rust never sleeps.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

ACROSTIC POETRY // Droid Avunculate

Uncle, tell me a bedtime story!
Promise me sleep right after that?

Bearded myths say there’s a purgatory
Right after death, right after begat.
Its goddamned inmates are forever doomed to
Never succeed in finding ease of breath,
Getting sick with chronic, emotional flu,
Insides torn ‘tween flame life and ice death.

No way, Iron Uncle, do they still have human pith!
Godspeed, Tiny Tin. People are just a silly ancient myth.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018