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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2196407
Rated: E · Poetry · Sci-fi · #2196407
I am captured by the alien Grays and taken aboard their ship.
I was taken one night on an outer space trip
by some alien Grays in their alien ship.
Being high in the Catskills with no one around
gave them probable cause to lift me from the ground.

My blue eyes were as wide as the heart in my neck
and my sense of it all crumpled up like a wreck.
I saw lights in a swirl with steel probes overhead,
yet the place where I lay did not pass for a bed.

There were long skinny faces with eyes on a slant
(in my mind came the thought of a carpenter ant.)
Even though there were times when I captured a glance,
I discerned for the most part all eyes were askance.

(I would rather be dancing than entertain steel
  probing quick with abandon and making me reel.
  Those staccato high pitches from voices nearby
  helped my liver go under and lymph nodes run dry.)

Yet despite the intrusion of bodily right,
I fell into a sleep with the spaceship in flight.
In a dream I became a crew member although
I was new to procedure, as gray methods go.

So we moved through the ship as I learned all the ropes;
my commission was granted and I had high hopes.
We had greens of Orion in officers’ mess;
there was Sirius tea with moon lemon, no less.

As I learned of propulsion through gravity wells,
and the warping of space and just how it propels,
I was given an overview of Gray intent—
the importance of probing and what it all meant.

Seems their probes were a window to biology;
through mechanical means they had option to see.
Their desire to learn was a beckoning road,
yet to eyeball the probing offended Gray code.

(In my dream I was learning of technical things
  and the basic morality being Gray brings.
  So the method of probing was taken to heart
  by a captured old human, Gray being upstart.)

As the duty befell me with probes day to day,
it was common for Gray supervisors to say:
“When deep-probing the subjects, don’t ogle and leer
  because: That’s not the way we do things around here.”

40 Lines
(Anapestic Tetrameter)
Writer’s Cramp Winner
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