It arrived just in time for lunch —
sliced cold turkey on whole wheat
with Dijon mustard, cheddar cheese,
olives, pickled pearl onions, capers
and tea — an immense white vehicle
that descended sillently from the blue sky.

I would have asked them in, but they
did not seem interested in food; rather
they spent most of the lunch period
setting up some device in my front yard.
It turned out to be a universal translator
they poked it through the window and
asked me thousands of questionsthat
I refused to answer, as they were
very personal, and I have a right to some
privacy — what they were I won’t say.

They left just before supper which I prepared
during the most intense period of questioning,
when they were asking about disease and war
and many unpleasant things I refuse to consider.
I was quite pleased when they got into their ship
and silently returned straight up. Supper was
a fried pork chop with apple sauce, candied baby
carrots, poached beets, baked potato with sour cream,
and a sweet tart for dessert.

O yes: a demi-tasse of black coffee.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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