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Small things excite the smaller man,
almost singing
his up and down dance
and finger pointing,
“The plane, the plane!”

The Other grins confidence,
arms open, inviting
the next generation
Scantily clad neon nothings
to Manifest Fantasy.

They smile and dance.
They laugh and cry.
They eat and sleep.
They gossip, spectate,
oblivious to His high-armed salute
to a black smoked cloud.

Those listening can hear
the drone as of bees
above all the trees,
mechanical swarm,
the eyes of the storm,
when focused contain
the arms of the law
and bringing of pain,
containment to all.
Fantastic it seems,
this nightmare of dreams:
Planes mindlessly flown,
our wickedness sown.

(Note: An official estimate on the number of drones flying in the United States by 2020 is 30,000 drones.

Also submitted for open link night at DversePoets.)