C’mon, space cadets! It’s time for another
roundup, one of those hey-it-won’t-be-every-
day-that-I-have-to-do-this-kind-of-things, something
fast like your mother’s pet alligator biting
extraterrestrial radio listeners when they investigate
her cellar in the Bayou for human artifacts to take back
to their extraterrestrial city exhibitions describing
their creations, or conversely, evidence for abuse
and battery of our local ecology, and grounds for
annihilation.
And the Vietnamese children cry for joy
when extraterrestrials made their debut upon
the childrens’ old and broken continent.
I will cry too, if we ever get the chance to meet
our maker, beginning or ending,
and it won’t even matter in the long run
because we’re all being swept away in the
matter recycler black hole that is the sun in
five billion years, which if you’re a fourth or
fifth dimensional being then five billion years
is the blink of an eye, and I long wish
we were defeated by space.
I’d call it the day the music died.
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