AFTER THOUGHTS
FROM AN ABDUCTION
By Maryann Hazen
You ready?
Don't mind the noise, you get used to it,
after a while. It's not so bad.
I'll tell it like I remember,
if you'll let me.
In this world of reality we, you know,
dawdle about our day-to-day destinies.
We whicker down over local
pop-skull whiskey, packs of Lucky Strikes.
That's when the world swam away down stream.
Trespassers will be prosecuted.
Give me a minute...
behind my head laughter ripples
like water over turnips.
Go ahead, roll your eyes, but
inside my face, Fran,
I still see the memory...
That night a young man appeared,
hand at throat beating like a broken wing.
Out of breath and heaving hard.
Thunder clouds at his heels with rain to follow
up close, personal, so horribly hollow.
Storm slashing down like electric spit.
Flashing like fat in a frying pan.
Mounting and pounding the slow summer night.
One solid crack splitting open
deeply dank, fresh turned earth.
Wildly alarming mound of
rocky rubble, pebbles popping.
A smoky, sizzling, stinking shoe.
Then he was just gone.
Fran, I think the creatures from those thinly places,
you know, granted him immediate immortality.
I believe when a soul reaches it's homeland,
(above or below the sky,)
it's clad in a christmasy cosmos
creating a stimulating, almost mystical,
experience to behold.
Did you know there's red Jell-O today?
Poem copyright 1998 by Maryann Hazen <Faerhart2@aol.com>
Illustration copyright 1998 by Duncan Long <duncan@kansas.net>
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