kloiterra

i've just moved to a new land where i don't understand the people's behavior or language,
yet in hopes of life improvement, i've joined their military.
now i work in a submarine with five other guys who scream orders, curses and aspersions
while moving like cogs in a clock; it's a highly choreographed, yet improvisational dance,
building torpedoes with large knives and boiling oil.
rarely does the question cross my mind: where is this ship headed?
and at the same time, it's the only thought in my automaton mind
as i put together the ammunition that destroys the hunger of the rich.

last night's innuendo that went seemingly unnoticed:
i needed a to-go container for a piece of our apple pie a la mode,
so i told the waitress to SNATCH me a BOX for me to put this PIE in.