Jeffrey Drohnemer’s Double Life
By day, he’s the man with the steady hand,
Piloting drones at his agency’s command.
Polite at brunch, well-mannered, refined,
A model citizen, cool and aligned.
But when the sun sinks, the hunger begins,
A fetish for power, control, and sins.
He seeks out men with skin not white
Whispers smooth, but his grip is tight.
He laughs when they flinch, from his drone invade,
If they resist, he brings out his trade.
Not fists, not blades, but a silent infrasound storm—
Invisible pulses to badger the victim his norm
A gentleman’s mask, a predator’s eyes,
In silk and steel, he tells his lies.
A monster hidden in clothes so neat,
If not the groin, then he'll particle beam their feet.
No records, no trails, just secrets untold,
The perfect dronejock in jockstrap, like slime mould
By morning, he’s back, sipping his brew,
Smiling, nodding—who ever knew?
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