Stumpy and the Decision Tree         by Thorold May
                   page thirty-two
Faithfully the gunner typed the script;
She flinched, now pale, and touched the crucifix she wore.
Stumpy's mouth drooped, waiting to catch flies.
They could have sworn the blue had ruffled in its bed,
Somehow uncomfortable, though nothing seemed to move --
More a prickle on the skin,
Then pop! A bulbous nose, baby pink, peeked out and twitched.

Two pairs of stubby fingers tore a ragged hole,
The electron veil shivered with its hurt,
And in the void behind its mask were eyes,
Quizzical, impatient, old and bright, pale blue with flecks of green.
Three faces crowded round the screen recoiled
Naked in the gaze of what they'd summoned, 
Until the Warrior, gathering his wits, hit a question key.

 

.. to be continued

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"Stumpy and the Decision Tree" copyrighted to Thorold May 2002; all rights reserved