Author’s Note: I call this an Altanagram Poem — as alternating lines are made up only of words that are anagrams of each other. This one was definitely heavily influenced by the Predator Space Chronicles book series by Craig De Lancey, which I was deeply and inescapably immersed in as I wrote this.

From out of the stars comes the call of a

Genuine ingenue

Desperately hoping to

Secure rescue.

The raw recruit of an envoy has been captured by

Sordid droids,

Ill-programmed and misguided by being

Wired weird.

I nestle my ship in the

Warp wrap,

Then analyze flight path,

Convert vector,

And set course for a

Remote meteor.

My fierce foe is a

Brainy binary

And approaches sporting

Rage gear.

I quickly consult my

Battle tablet,

And analyze the villains’ next-generation

Etch tech.

I don my combat armor, prepared to do my

Suited duties.

I am space-born, Legion-trained, a bona fide laser-

Rifle lifer.

In the chaos of the firefight, one precise shot ruptures the fiends’ binding

Argon organ,

And the conjoined captors burst apart, ending their

Vile evil.

Having lived to add yet another

Dire ride

To the adventurous accounts in my

Life file,

I provide the freed captive a happily uneventful home-

Sector escort.

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