The Eccentric Alien
He wears his luxury suite like a silk gown,
swirls traffic lights
neon bar fights
around in his tumbler, anti-clockwise.
The soles of his matching slippers whisper
secret messages, soft like cats’ whiskers,
over Persian carpet purrs and muffled cries.
A blink of an eye and the walls part
(glass sliding doors syrupy under his feet).
The balcony looks lonely, only a deck chair
for company, the white wind howls;
cold air melts the cubes in his device;
he asks for forgiveness, raises his tumbler,
and downs the city in three big gulps.
words by Ramon Ramirez
art by Craig Hopson