Where Would I Have Learned To Lie
The spaceship was atypical.
Her aliens unlike any I had visualized.
Questions they asked were silly.
No one probed me.
I laughed at their striped skin and their extra eyes.
They reminded me of googly eyed teddy bears.
Except they were thinner, and they seemed silly.
I was rude; I admit it.
I tried to share my gum with one of them.
You have to chew it first, he said. “I can never get it started.”
This grossed even me out, but I shared it anyway.
He popped it into his left ear which confused me.
The aliens never brought a McGillacudy back that quickly said Mom.
My father called me a liar, he was never taken.
Where would I have learned to lie? I asked him.
Chuckling all the way to my dragon’s den.
I knew he had never caught a forty-six-pound goldfish
Or tamed crocodiles in the Nile.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2023
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