Wednesday, February 03, 2010
The Apocalypse Of Her Yellow Dress
“The little grey men,” she said, “come at night.
They don’t abduct me. They don’t probe my butt.
Or my nose. And my uterus stays shut.
But they paralyze me so I can’t fight
when they take my dress. They leave on the light.
They make me watch. They take my dress then cut
to dawn, bring it back after God knows what.
Paralyzed. Forced to watch. This is my plight.”
I said nothing, but thought: It’s shapes inside.
Inside her dress the shape’s a human-shape.
The grey men take that shape back to their place.
I couldn’t say my thoughts, wanted to hide.
Inside her was more of a monster-shape
than even the grey men from outer space.