In Amazonia there is a tribe
of 37 souls – they peg the number.
Ancestral knowledge of their forest products
completely satisfies their every need.
Just one item they can’t source nearby.
Every three years, on St Crispin’s Day,
they all climb in their flying saucer
and go to Sirius B to get supplies.
They can build a working nuclear bomb;
generate unlimited clean energy;
have antidotes to every human ailment;
make piles of rubbish vanish without trace.
Speak any language, animal or human,
fly to any point on the globe,
feed earth’s population, if they fancy,
Turn down the thermostat by 2 degrees.
They have precisely two life aspirations
(a) to be left totally alone
(b) to discover something they can’t do.
This last they deem to be their failure.
To trade with them is not a proposition.
There’s not a single thing we’ve got they want.
This in itself, on the McBozo Doctrine,
makes them a Schedule A strategic risk.
We’ve carefully examined all three options:
(1) send them some guy to convert them all
to Christianity, Buddhism – anything! –
to live with them and find out all he can.
(2) send two Chinooks full of Navy SEALs
to wipe them out, each man, woman and child.
We must account for every individual
or else the consequences will be dire.
(3) do the only thing they want of us –
piss off and claim we’ve never been in touch;
dig a deep ditch all around their land;
deny we found a cure for all our woes.