Over at Chuck Wendig's terrible minds blog, in a post on "Ten Things To Never Say To A Writer", one of Wendig's wonderful free-associational utterances had to do with cyborg dingoes attacking an Australian orphanage. (He does this sort of thing a lot. It's great stuff.) One of the commenters expressed a wish for an actual cyborg dingo story. Well, I wouldn't want to do that without an okay from Wendig, but I figured a short poem on the subject would be permissible:
Crazed cyborg dingoes, angry with rage,
slaughtered the kids at the orphanage.
Why did they raise such terrible hell?
To make an occasion for bad doggerel.
Some poets should come with warning labels. I suspect I'm one of them.