12. Red Alert

Some of us were odde, in a manere overte.
Oure chiefe of securitie, one Red Alert,

was amonge them. The word 'cautiouse'
myghte describe him, though I’d saye 'nauseous

with paranoya' is nearer the marke.
He was jitterie as a caffeine-rakked clerk

poring overe books whyche do not balance,
warie of comrades and fearful of their talentes.

This was, perhappes, due to how he was mayde;
pricklie with sensores, he was a technocayde

of opticale, kinesthetikke - maybe psychikke? -
and precoggenitive nodes that would highkikke

his minde into frenzie at signes of dangere,
whyche is fyne equyppemente for scoute or rangere,

hunteres eagere to snouffle out trouble.
But as watcheman, the one amonge the rabble

accountable for breake-ins on home soyle
he was an eele with an ytch, a foyle

to his imaginatione. When this was ygnyted,
his hede blazed blue, buzzed lyke a bryghte kidde

in a laboratorie. He once became afrayde
that we planned to kille him, to raide

and ransakke his bodie for spare partes!
Thus convynced, he fled the Autobots

angrilie, and pitted himself against
his own securitie, broke into an enfenced,

welle- guarded compounde to stele a weapone.
But before muche regrettable could happen

he regayned his sanytie, and retyrned
to those, in his deleryumme, he had spurned.

His sinceretie true, the incidente briefe,
we welcomed back the prodigal chiefe.