Korova Milk War
The kids all wanted to see the noise that shook their city's ground,
while the farmers congregated, worried about the pollutants in the clouds.
The last privatized village where humans lived without
technological advancements. Better off than Aztecs in a rural little town.
Country-side living with a perimeter of graffiti and stones.
A civilization with huts, town matriarchs, creeks, cows and goats.
Where people are clothed in first world throwaways
and put shirts over faces before they sneak in the zone -
where gears whine and squeak in a tone that screams as the drills are maxed out.
The elders worriedly wonder "Still they frack now -
How long will they continue to dig the damn ground?
Was it worth it to trade our peace for a little cash cow?"
Their perimeter stands proud - as high as the sky vividly appears
while it's surrounded by the likes of scientists and engineers.
The idiots are quiet while the wise men have inspired guilt and spread the fear -
rushing at all the young minds and screaming violently
"the end is near!"
The forces outside were practically sent by satellite.
Stacked with gadgets that bring death when panic strikes.
Calculating the source of the oil and its depth's expansive size,
while mathematicians find the ratio of heads to standard prices.
A quest that spans all life, which the united nations had bore.
Free poaching resources in exchange for no wars.
City by city they shifted as an assailant with force -
until they reached the last oil field and made a trade in remorse.
A piece of change for a corpse of a planet's blood bag.
The General drank milk, which coated his grandiose mustache.
He eyed the city while double backing his word. Planning commands
and formations for his forces to lead their savage attack.
Some hundred-odd guns are cocked while the troops move to their hummers and tanks.
Roided super-soldiers shoot ammonia vials while they pummel the gates.
Women and children are rushed to the top with a ton of grenades
while the men of the village are required to stay and tussle with fate.
The old, humble and brave are still in the barns or the fields.
Their naive wives are there too, praying on parts of their heels.
They figure if they survive this today they'll need food for their partners to eat.
So, they milk the cows while expecting the army to starve without meals.
The walls shook, they all looked at the tanks ramming their fortress.
The boys gathered things to throw while the girls were stammering hopelessly.
The army paused with their jaws dropped as the tanks sputtered and ran out of motion.
Grenades dropped while the soldiers back tracked their courses.
It fared the village - gave them air as they prepared their visage
against a group facing the irony of losing the resource you're there to pillage.
The troops regrouped aloofly and attacked some more with cannons and droids.
Mechanical animals damaging structures and doing what their masters enjoy.
Even though the corrupt always win with blood their hands cant avoid -
a gallon of milk is still worth more than a gallon of oil.
“Each man kills the thing he loves.”
― Anthony Burgess