Frombnabula 7

Orange crush skies crush down upon
Frombnabula 7
and the space crew thereon:
Phinneas Wilbur, the captain of late,
and Gumfrey McDumfrey,
his faithful first mate,
and Rooter, and Bramble,
and John-Boy Perdue
and six other guys
dressed in cobalt blue.

Their orders were simple:
explore and report.
"And don't explode,"
thought John-Boy Perdue with a snort
(he thought himself funny,
the crew though him short).

As they scanned the horizon with space-dusted eyes
for signs there of life and signs of surprise
(perhaps a space weasel or pack of space lice),
McDumfrey sneezed once, and then he sneezed twice.

The crew froze a moment in the silence of space
as the solar wind blew their space hair out of place.
The silence was broken by the burping of space mice,
and then it was quiet until McDumfrey sneezed thrice.

"Shit!" cried out Rooter. "Space shit!" yelled Perdue.
For McDumfrey had come down with the deadly space flu
or perhaps the space measles, or space sniffles, or gout.
They ran quick to the ship and told Gumfrey to stay the hell out.

He banged on the steel door but no one was home
as Bramble made clear when he yelled "No one's home!"
And inside they debated over Gumfrey's space fate
for six seconds before they decided it was late
and they should really be going before it got dark
so Wilbur fired the engines of their mammoth space ark.

As it lifted away, McDumfrey waved good-bye
and a silver space tear rolled out from his space eye
as the planet grew silent and the ship faded nigh
into a tiny gray speck in the giant space sky.

Just then something white fluttered on down from above
flipping end over end like a drunken space dove
that took its time falling like the impact would hurt
before it landed at his feet in the purple space dirt.

Gumfrey picked it up with his manicured hands
that had seen deep space duty in deep far-off lands
and read it aloud to the stars and the moon:
"Sorry to hear, hope you get well soon."

"A card," he thought. "They didn't have to do that."
He stared out at the landscape both barren and flat,
except for space pollen dancing on the breeze.

"Hayfever," he thought, as he sneezed a fourth sneeze.

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