A Cracked Pot Never Boils

Finally, the truth emerges, a runny yolk, sliding from a plate.
The pod people have taken control. Behind the tinted windows
Of limousines, alien minds plan to make what was ours, theirs.

That is the nature of invasion. It transmutes belongings,
Converts energy from us to them. They are entitled
To what you earned. You are entitled to work.

And when you can work no more, they are entitled to dispose
Of the refuse of your life to make way, make way for someone
New. Perhaps younger, blonder, leggier, someone who won't

Ask questions out of turn. Someone with no ideas of their own
And no desire to acquire any; who's always wanted to be
A pod person, or who is one at heart already. Finally,

They will drag the ineffectual from their desks and make
America safe again, so that those with everything to lose
Have nothing to fear from those with everything to gain.