Alan Catlin- Three Poems

Our Lady of the Alien Invasion

Nights she sits in her pale blue

room, reading star charts, divining

astrological signs, making notations

of all abrupt changes in the weather,

fluctuations in the tides, wearing white

robes with gold brocade just in case

the time is now, these garments leftover

from dress rehearsal costume dramas,

comic operas, teleplays none of the characters

arrived for, all their lines left behind on sheets

she used as curtains to block out all of natural

light, music scored into window glass,

a Symphonie Fantastique in prime numbers

that would someday make sense, long after

Kool Aid Acid Tests, magic mushroom brownies

and strychnine sandwiches for the acolytes

and the newly converted, nothing left to chance;

once the higher powers have been summoned,

there is no turning back.

Charles and Marjory Johnson of Lancaster California,

the last stubborn defenders of flat earth doctrine

Their file photo could easily have been

culled from the back files of a UFO

Space Invaders found amid the wreckage

of an unacknowledged craft from some-

where in a New Mexican desert landing

site, their likenesses, part of disinformative

data meant to discredit far reaching thinkers

of unpopular doctrines, programs contemplated

as part of a disruptive interference in our

affairs from way beyond, these anachronistic

patriots left behind to live without modern

conveniences of running water, electricity,

indoor plumbing, to be perceived as exiles

in bizarre polyester, crackpots unstuck in time.

Contacts

“There I was on line at the paper Cutter

getting the pages for the magazine

copy ready and this strange guy comes up

to me and hands me his card.

He was old, ancient in fact, decrepit

even.  The card was blue and it had all

kinds of names on it, some with addresses

on other planets. I wondered who took

the order for that one and where.

He indicated that he was on some kind

of mission that was of vital importance

and top secret to boot.

‘Take Sara, for instance. We’ve been

in contact for years. Her home base is still

Saturn but that could change on a moment’s

notice. What are you having run off?’

‘Runes. I’m head of a secret society

that specializes in the significance of signs:

have you ever heard of Semiologists?’

I thought I had a storing shot at becoming

statistic judging from the look in his eyes.

It was only later that I realized he hadn’t

gotten the joke and he had perceived me as

a threat from a rival power.”