(UFFD Local 108 – “We Breathe Fire, Not Your Tropes”)

A dragon soared with a caffeinated sigh,
Wings aching under a bureaucratic sky.
No longer the terror of myth and tale—
Now just a dude with back pain and junk mail.

He grumbled, flapped, and rolled his eyes,
At ballads sung by clueless guys:
“O mighty beast! O monster dread!”
The last one screamed as he lost his head.

“Seriously?” muttered the dragon mid-air,
“All I wanted was lunch and some peace out there.
But nooo—he came swinging his ‘Chosen One’ blade,
While yelling something about honor and a maid.”

You see, this wasn’t a one-time thing—
The hero epidemic was in full swing.
Every week, a bard, a prince, or a guy with a map
Showed up to attack him mid-nap.

So, he did what any wise dragon would:
He formed a union (as all dragons should).
The UFFD—they hold meetings twice weekly,
In a lava-lit cave that smells uniquely.

Agenda:

• Item one: Stop dying in stories.
• Item two: Get royalties from human glories.
• Item three: Establish PR outreach team.
• Item four: Therapy for recurring dream.

(That dream again—where he’s slain by a lad,
With soft hands, bad aim, and a haircut gone mad.)

There’s Greg, the union’s wellness coach,
Who runs “Anger Yoga” near a cliffside roach.
“Breathe in fire, breathe out shame—
Our species should not suffer the blame.”

And Cheryl, a wyvern with three degrees,
Teaches “Dragonomics” and “Setting boundaries.”
“You don’t have to guard treasure, friends.
You are allowed to set new trends.”

They’ve even got a dragon therapist team—
Run by Smolder, who once screamed in a dream,
“I’m not a villain! I just need space!
Why does every bard paint me as disgraced?!”

Then there’s Bob—just Bob—who writes blogs and plays
On surviving knight attacks and gluten-free days
He’s trying to start a dragon podcast now:
“Scales & Feelings: Let’s Talk About How.”

They’ve held pickets at castles, burned effigies,
Sent scrolls to the King (with polite parentheses).
They’ve unionized trolls, ogres, and ghouls,
Even got goblins to follow workplace rules.

But humans? Still stuck in cliché mode:
Kill dragon, get girl, and loot the abode.
Even if that dragon’s just watching TV,
Or practicing flute in minor C.

Last week, they protested a bardic con,
Where some guy sang, “All dragons be gone!”
So our friend here took the open mic,
And delivered a TED Talk on “Please Stop the Hype.”

He said:
“I pay taxes, I compost, I vote.
I don’t hoard gold—I hoard antique soap.
I meditate, exfoliate, and once a week cry—
So tell me again why I must die?”

Now, he runs a wellness retreat in the woods,
With tofu, chai, and fair-trade goods.
He teaches journaling, slow-breath flame,
And how to detach from the Hero Game.

His roar’s now used to steep herbal tea,
And his fire makes some excellent brie.
He does stand-up on weekends—dry, ironic, true:
“I tried dating a unicorn. One word: glue.”

So if you see a dragon next time you roam,
Don’t raise a sword or threaten his home.
Just wave, or better, bring snacks and chat—
He might just ask, “You want to talk about that?”

Because dragons aren’t monsters—they’re misunderstood.
And frankly, they’re unionizing for good.
So beware not their teeth, but their rising demands:
Dental, vacation, and equitable lands.

________________________

Ulysses Arlen is a writer and poet based in India, with a deep appreciation for classical poetry and a flair for humor. By day, he works a desk job; by night, he writes. His work has appeared in the Society of Classical Poets as well as in some local publications.