Crispy Critters

One of us has a fever so we
build a machine that we can doubt.
It is a good machine that moves
in a very robotic way but still
gets things done on time. Crispy
critters get in our way
and make us hesitant to walk up
the stairs or even take a lunch,
so great is the violent nature
they exude. In this poem I would
like to encourage the seafarers of ancient
times to curtail their sea snacking
and concentrate on the particular
weather of the moment which
looks calm with a clear chance of
a smack down in the near future.
Whatever you do, stay clear of
the masked dude, because he is trouble.
Does that make sense?