My attempt at a prose poem for Creative Writing class:
War of the Worlds
The unnatural blocks, columns, and cubes protruded from the flat landscape, thrusting their ugliness deep into the Earth’s core. At three a.m. the city is still. Nature has retaliated in protest of this filthy intrusion. A white blanket of silence was delicately placed over the steel, asphalt, concrete, and brick by frosty nymphs under Winter’s care. He grinned, displaying his icy teeth in triumph.
But three a.m. turned to four; four to five; and soon the plot was discovered. Snowplows, like angry orange bugs, devoured the beautiful ribbons of white, leaving behind a slushy brown trail of defeat. Salt, sand, and shovels marched in innumerous forces, dumping their casualties in large mounds which skirted the edges of sidewalks and porch steps. The city was alive, efficiently removing the intrusion on its habitat. Humanity 1, Nature 0.