Aliens

Now that you’re finally happy

you notice how sad your friends are.

One calls you from a pay phone, crying.

Her husband has cancer; only a few months,

maybe less, before his body gives in.

she’s tired all the time, can barely eat.

What can you say that will help her?

You yourself are ravenous.

You come so intensely with your new lover

you wonder if you’ve turned

into someone else. Maybe an alien

has taken over your body

in order to experience the good life

here on earth: dark rum and grapefruit juice,

fucking on the kitchen floor,

then showering together and going out

to eat and eat. When your friends call—

the woman drinking too much, the one who lost

her brother, the ex-lover whose right ear

went dead and then began buzzing—

the alien doesn’t want to listen.

More food, it whines. Fuck me again,

it whispers, and afterwards we’ll go to the circus.

the phone rings. don’t answer it.

You reach for a fat eclair,

bite into it while the room fills

with aliens—wandering, star-riddled creatures

who vibrate in the rapturous air,

longing to come down and join you,

looking for a place they can rest.