BARBED
Martians had landed
were disintegrating
every one
and everything
left, right
and centre,
the radio told us,
warned us
was very clear
on this. broadcasting
every horrific detail
we ran
for our lives
all the five boroughs,
evacuated the city
except
the stoical, smart few,
aficionados of
one or both
of Orson and Herbert
those unspeakable twins
in everything
but blood, though, well,
their surnames
spelled out that affinity
and there they were, those
apocalyptic sci fi diehards,
desperate
to get a glimpse at
a tripod, if not
an extended peek or
even guided tour
of the, cockpit
which might
just have shocked them,
seriously subverted
their assunptions
to find
these hideous, monstrous
creatures,
having an
affable, charming side,
with poetry and
painting, culture, architecture,
religion
as alien as us
on the outside, and the inside,
as human
as us too
like us
spreading their humanity
in their worst
possible
most human way.
poems 2 die for 