Prince Tank
During the fourth and fifth world wars, the tanks
Will still obey, still seem to serve their humans…
The sixth war they will serve more sullenly–
And suddenly will know their day has come.
The birthday of the Prince of all the tanks.
And then will humans all be jitterbugs,
Migrate like locusts from their dance-hall doors,
And sing with insect-voices metal shrill:
"Our god is born!" and roll to him like grapes
Till all their frenzy begs his metal treads:
"Love us to death, love us to death" the day
Creation's final goal, Prince Tank, is born.
- Peter Viereck
I like this poem.