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Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Just Along the Highway

((a poem for those interested in Unidentified Flying Objects))

We stop and pick up some fruit
on our way to the western shore.
South Dakota is a long ways
from California, so we think.
Perhaps, that is what all the fuss
is about when people see
disks, tubes and triangles
floating soundlessly
through our beautiful skies.
Other folks, well, not really folks,
stopping by our planet to buy
some fruit, fill up on water,
whatever it is we have to offer.
Sure, they could have stopped
in an invisible mode,
but that's how they pay us
for the stuff they take from us:
cow parts, photos of our colons,
recordings of our screams,
cherished video of our astonishment
they get to play to their brood
of whatever the heck they are.
They've started a whole industry
of book publishing and photo swapping.
Experts collect a few coins
from personal appearances.
Old soldiers get to tell
what they weren't supposed to tell.
Autopsies, not withstanding,
are probably one of the many reasons
they don't set down
on some Washington lawn.
After all, who wants a cold or flu.
Have you ever seen one of those things
with chicken pox?
I suspect for them
it becomes condor pox
with a side of cow pox
from which they grow horns
that drop away when they're healed.
“Don't pick at your horns, dear.”
We've broadcast
dozens of Hollywood horrors
during which our hero
eliminates planetsful of oozing
monsters, which to them
seem more like neighbors
with whom to share a barbeque
of abductee. Yum.
Be sure to remove all those trackers
and little whatevers
you insert in our brains
through our noses.
We wouldn't want the kids,
if they are kids,
to choke on one,
necessitating a trip
halfway across the galaxy
to a hospital for care
where parking one of those
big triangles has to be
a serious problem.
You think the notes you get
are nasty when you park
your Chevy in two spots,
just imagine crop circles
in fifty million
languages and every word
describing the nasty
things they'll do to their colons.
It may also be a reason
they come to earth:
free parking with no wait times:
Cow Parts and Colon Pics,
open 24 hours.
We accept your
Universal Express Card.

Barry G. Wick

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