FOR THE WONDERS OF THE UNIVERSE
You may have heard: Aliens are real
and they can be contacted through the U.S. Postal Service.
I’m looking inside a dark mailbox
at tiny metallic objects
with shiny angelic faces.
In the gleam of a reflection
a column of piled saucers
snakes its way into the clouds—
on the top most plate
a gathering of ants are doing an interstellar bugaloo.
Cosmic sugar
like Peruvian marching powder
can get the folic acid circulating
and cause many a thorax to head for the edge of the nearest black hole.
Leaping into a prayer like a lemming
everyone follows everyone else in a regimented litany—
there must be a dead moth
somewhere near that deflated space suit.
On my computer screen
I just got an email: magnesium
is the fuel that runs their vehicles.
Thank you so much Flash Gordon
for your cryptic message—
if it wasn’t for you
I would never have given up the saxophone
for the wonders of the universe.
Joe Balaz
