By Bryan Merck
I wake up for some reason,
and they are standing next to my bed,
in a knot, staring at me with a proprietary intent.
They come into my room on a beam of light.
I hear their thoughts.
Often at night, I discover myself up for no good reason.
This morning, in the wee hours, I found an uppercrust fellow, in a bathrobe,
sitting at my kitchen table. He asked me for Oolong tea.
I went back to bed.
My house has always been a fairway for this.
The little gray people with the big black eyes
appeared one night in my nursery room.
I got up and crossed the hall and climbed into my parents’ bed.
I put my hands on my father’s back and lay against him.
I felt I was safe there, surely.
These beings tell me they were with me
all through my gestation and my indignant newborn wailing.
I started watching the Three Stooges when I was around 5.
This comforted me greatly. I began to encounter other people
in my house, late night, then, too.
I dearly wanted to be Batman. I had his comics.
He was human, so I could become him.
I really wanted to be Superman.
I knew this was not possible.
I wanted metamorphosis, a nuclear ray-gun
thing to happen to me, a transmutation away
from the human, like it did to Bruce Banner, or the Flash.
I became interested in chemistry.
I had chemistry sets.
I carried vague ideas of being safe in prison, or
even a hospital, sequestered, finally secure around so many
guards and nurses and orderlies who would watch me while I slept.
They come into my room on a beam of light. They
take me out through my wall on the same beam.
There are others on the ships, humans, hybrid women, beings
with white bleached skin and the eyes.
Up there, we go through the “lab rat” scenario in
a room with metallic walls and tables and a corrugated-metal type floor.
There are pneumatic sounds.
Once, when I was 40, I found myself disembarking in like a bay area.
I had some friends there. We greeted each other.
One friend was naked. I found myself in a “philosophy class”.
A woman with a face like a blend of human and visitor was the teacher.
I had been drinking beer before I passed out on my sofa.
She knew this. She was not amused.
I am not in Kansas anymore
and I cannot go back there. All of this has a gimcrack immediacy.
They played Glen Campbell music the last time.
They are sort of pitiful, obtuse,
like the song they sang to me as a child.
Adam gave names to all the animals.
There is a replica of “the woman clothed with the sun” on a wall
of their examining room. I’ve met several Franciscans and Poor Clares
on the mother ship.
Once they showed me the nature of their workings
with humankind. “We have a similar relationship with you
as you have with cattle,” they said. And so on.
Some of them have a face like the Red Queen in Wonderland.
If I want this to scare me it does.
They showed me my adult body
when I was a very young child.
They often treat each other and me like Laurel and Hardy treat each other.
There is an obscure pedagogy in all this. They over-teach in obvious ways.
It reminds me of the 1st grade.
If I were a deer in the wild, and some humans came at me
with veterinary motives, it would just be my nature to be frightened of them.
One night I found a friend who had only lately died of drunkenness sitting
on my living room sofa. I sat down and we talked. Then he shook my hand and stood
and walked out through my closed and bolted front door.