11-20-2016, 02:47 AM
In a town not disimilar to your own
an alien puts on your face.
He has taken
over the life
that you no longer use.
While you were sleeping
you leaked linto an aproximal cosmos
to be re-engineered by those better suited to being you.
Now each moment offers multiple hypotheticals,
a factor that may kill you, or recall you to yourself again.
The alien combs your hair grumbling about the thinness.
He eases into shoes you bought from a Payless Store.
He is leaving a rented apartment,
a place overrun with traits and characteristics,
your personal underwear.
He has borrowed you
while you strove to be unique among the children of Adam.
You go out to eat. Plans do not go well.
You stop at a Wendy’s.
You like the cheeseburger ‘mini’s.’
They are better than the ‘Baconnater,’
which you have to crouch over,
your fingers and lips splattered
with karmic chow.
At your table you feel like a giant.
The furnishings in Wendy’s
are one eighth smaller than adult size,
you wonder why but keep chomping.
The alien chooses this moment to stop by for chicken salad;
light ranch dressing - no croutons.
From behind his chair, you watch him.
Last week you went to the barber.
The visual memory of the back of your head
is still fresh.
You begin to suspect your life is being usurped.
A woman screams. There is uproar, a pack of peccadilloes
are infesting the restaurant. They scamper and bleat
between the patrons legs.
In the resulting chaos the alien departs.
Through a window, you see a man not dissimilar to you,
drive away in a old ‘Chevy Malibu’ not dissimilar to your own.
Fast food attains the speed of light.
The grill cook has come out from the back,
he looks like the Swedish chef from the Muppet Show,
in reality, he is a messenger from an uncertain future.
Amid the general hubbub, and despite his heavily accented English,
he demands that you get going
before you meet yourself coming back.
You have a quarter-pounder of a headache.
Ahead, there is a plastic fork in a plastic road.
The plasticity of the choices before you
threatens to destabilize the fabric of this Wendy franchise,
yet you dawdle amidst a pile of unused salt and pepper sachets.
By slight of hand the alien made off
with one of your grease-stained re-cycled napkins,
a DNA encoded document
that will confirm that you are much too poorly adapted
to ever improve upon, something as simple, for instance
as a grilled cheese sandwich.
~~
an alien puts on your face.
He has taken
over the life
that you no longer use.
While you were sleeping
you leaked linto an aproximal cosmos
to be re-engineered by those better suited to being you.
Now each moment offers multiple hypotheticals,
a factor that may kill you, or recall you to yourself again.
The alien combs your hair grumbling about the thinness.
He eases into shoes you bought from a Payless Store.
He is leaving a rented apartment,
a place overrun with traits and characteristics,
your personal underwear.
He has borrowed you
while you strove to be unique among the children of Adam.
You go out to eat. Plans do not go well.
You stop at a Wendy’s.
You like the cheeseburger ‘mini’s.’
They are better than the ‘Baconnater,’
which you have to crouch over,
your fingers and lips splattered
with karmic chow.
At your table you feel like a giant.
The furnishings in Wendy’s
are one eighth smaller than adult size,
you wonder why but keep chomping.
The alien chooses this moment to stop by for chicken salad;
light ranch dressing - no croutons.
From behind his chair, you watch him.
Last week you went to the barber.
The visual memory of the back of your head
is still fresh.
You begin to suspect your life is being usurped.
A woman screams. There is uproar, a pack of peccadilloes
are infesting the restaurant. They scamper and bleat
between the patrons legs.
In the resulting chaos the alien departs.
Through a window, you see a man not dissimilar to you,
drive away in a old ‘Chevy Malibu’ not dissimilar to your own.
Fast food attains the speed of light.
The grill cook has come out from the back,
he looks like the Swedish chef from the Muppet Show,
in reality, he is a messenger from an uncertain future.
Amid the general hubbub, and despite his heavily accented English,
he demands that you get going
before you meet yourself coming back.
You have a quarter-pounder of a headache.
Ahead, there is a plastic fork in a plastic road.
The plasticity of the choices before you
threatens to destabilize the fabric of this Wendy franchise,
yet you dawdle amidst a pile of unused salt and pepper sachets.
By slight of hand the alien made off
with one of your grease-stained re-cycled napkins,
a DNA encoded document
that will confirm that you are much too poorly adapted
to ever improve upon, something as simple, for instance
as a grilled cheese sandwich.
~~