If You Want To Meet Aliens
Aliens and spacemen must exist because I see them all the time
They are in the trees, the flowers, and they are not mere slime.
They parade around my yard, about two feet off the ground.
They are now wearing space ships, and they consume rancid lard.
They tell me stories in my dreams, and they delight me in a way.
They sleep under the bed, on the rug that’s red, blue and gray.
Aliens and spacemen, working on their space craft in the eve.
They keep asking me for help but I am snoring with a heave.
They do not have three eyes or bubble heads, and they are not green.
They are about as real as you and me, but less unkind, and never mean.
Empathetic and lovely aliens and spacemen come out after twilight.
If you want to meet six of them, come by my house at nine o’clock tonight.
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