Say at last you’ve found a private
pasture to lie down in – take a midday
summer nap: next thing you know
a squeaking creature’s crawled up in your
lap as if you were its mother and from
out of nowhere some lost hungry sister
and her brother come and lean against
you as if you were a discarded mattress:
show no interest in your strangely yellow
supine fatness but attend instead to that
small squeaking creature who’s been
climbing on you like a bed, and whom
they wonder what he’d taste like, crushed
and mushed and spread on bread.
Say you wake up and discover none of it
(yup, you're an alien) was in your head.
.
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