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A flea escapes

Perhaps the world had turned on its axis
Nostradamas predicted it
Believers in hindsight
Thinking he'd got it right

Or the oceans had shifted
Scientists predicted it
Religiously faithful to their foresight
Sure the balance wasn't right

Our priorities had drifted
Cities fed on wars
Running low of humous and vegemite
Were out shopping all night

Even the richest of us were poor
In the event that was dawning
An apocalyptic roll call
That depended on only one thing for its stalling

The meteor was on its way
Spinning at high velocity
On it came
Closing in for a final new year's day

And we had no thoughts to a flea
Splashing in a washing-up bowl
Helen poised to tip him down the plug hole
The Earth's dilemma, its billions of souls...

The Americans never would have lined up their rockets in time
The Chinese missiles might not have gone in the required straight lines
The Russians would have turned off another gas pipeline
And in a news report we all took as some kind of joke
Was it true? A Flea was our only hope?

Helen didn't quite comprehend
The gravity of her situation
That the flea had masquaraded as a ghost,
Had not really helped in her realisation

And it sounds like I'm winding the story up now
Was there was nothing to be done?
The bowl was to be emptied
In the bottom Helen would have retrieved another last teaspoon that she would have counted as number 2001

The Meteor would've crashed,
The Earth exploding,
The end of us
All fried in a global roaster toasting

But don't forget, my friends,
The indestructibility of our intergalactic traveller
Unsinkable, he could have sploshed around all day amongst the washing up
And for such occasions always kept in his bag, a miniture wind-up yellow duck

He swam amongst mountain fresh peachy citrus bubbles that eased his dusty parts
Treading water he cleaned his springs and antennas,
Rinsed away the grease oozing through the seals
Around his tubing and pneumatic heart

Lolling back to float
Relaxed and cleansed
He addressed Helen,
"Have you any light walnut oil to lubricate my rusting cogs, jagged joints and uneven ends?"

A request to which she couldn't answer
As she had fainted with a quiestest murmer
Crumpled to the kitchen floor
Overcome at the unexpected question
From an insect bobbing, showing off his gleaming bolts and nuts,

What's more...

The windup Yellow Duck
Remotely controlled from his mind
Tugged our hero through the mugs and dishes
To the washing up bowl's side.