Contact: where have all the aliens gone?
Gone: girl; era; with wind in hair.
Hair: curly tresses around delicate fingers.
Fingers: dealing heroin.
Heroine: seduced, abducted, impregnated, by shifty aliens.
Aliens’: civilizations disappeared before contact.
Contact: lost with reality.
Reality: opposite of fantasy.
Fantasy: nothing is as it seems, but it’s great.
Great: not really, except in the recesses of mind.
Mind: your guns. Erect walls, the aliens are here!
NOTES: The inspiration for the poem came from a recent article that suggest that we can’t find aliens because they’ve all died off. The form came from Samiya Bashir’s wonderful poem called, Blackbody Curve. (Samiya, is a Portland denizen). Current headlines, 2016 campaign provided much of the poem’s fodder.