Scifi Poem

Wrap me in rain,

give me cool comfort like the

swirling of air from a fan over my legs

at bedtime so noxious and sanctimonious.

What strange aliens wait in the field behind the house,

gaudy in their multitudinous space ships?

Give me sweet succor and lay me down

in the pumpkin patch.

Let me grow vines to root me in place.

There is no sense in running.

And when the aliens come,

let their teeth already be sharpened,

their hands quick.