When you are flying through
the fireworks of different galaxies
(not quite as fast as the speed of light
in a vacuum but still quickly enough
to give even Yoda a facelift)
trying to hold on to your fresh white towel
as you pass by the camera flash of a dying star
or the whip crack of spacetime snapping
into a black hole faster than you can say “relativity,”
and you start to feel hungry for the taste
of the Milky Way,
and you reach for the forbidden fruit trees
growing in the rear end of the space bus
even though you know
it may spark a civil war millennia in the future…
don’t eat the peach.
You can choose any other fruit,
any other foodstuff to consume
and cut with honey or something stronger.
But the peach has one of those
green wriggly things inside
that will make you grow wide as
a giant home for bugs and orphan boys.
Like the size of the Death Star.
Like stormtrooper occupied.
But you’ll likely be safe
probably don’t know anything about lasers
or planet-destroying death rays
or time travel.
They’re white collar workers.
But better secure than sorry;
you heard that some workers
are moving up the ranks
taking vocational classes
to learn something useful
like how to destroy worlds with a mobile moon.
don’t eat the droop;
it’s what the snake wants you to do.