The universal translator was
Dead.
When the visitors arrived, all we had
Were groans:
They didn’t understand,
Things remained unsaid.
We thought they were hostile,
They thought we were dumb,
There was no choice but
To pull out the guns.
It was a massacre
But who was to blame?
Communication failure,
Our reports claim.
And yet,
Sometimes,
To shorten
Cosmic nights,
I wonder still:
Was it a glitch
In the translating machine
Or, simply
A chronic, and blind
Lack of will?
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