Saucer

I walk through crowds who never look up,
drab and caffeinated and desensitized to everything.
I used to go to a brown building and sit in a sea of gray squares
with shallow walls and drawers full of dull pencils.
But I’m different now, I know.

They took me up one night as I slept, into their spaceship.
With bug eyes and soft voices they showed me the stars
then dropped me off before sunrise on my little pale blue dot.

Now I run through the fast-moving forest of people,
shaking their roots, pulling at sunglasses and hats,
imploring that just for a moment they look up and see
that their jobs and their towers of concrete
and their lines of cars and their mountains of paper
are just specks on the face of a pebble.

But today is a cloudy day and there are no spaceships around,
so they shuffle past and go back to their boxes,
glancing at watches and cell phones and avoiding eye contact.

But I never stop remembering the little green men
and their wondrous saucer that made my eyes go wide.

This was another poem I wrote for a creative writing class. I’m still not entirely happy with the ending, but I like the way the rest of it turned out. I even managed to get a Carl Sagan reference in (“pale blue dot”).