An alien is for life, not just for Christmas
[ poetry - april 09 ]
The alien lying on the sofa opposite was blue
a number nine on his back like a centre forward.
He was inflatable, and life size,
custody of him gained at a drunken office party.
Inflatable: like us
stick a needle in and there's nothing there
except hot air.
Behind me as I lay foetally
on my sofa, engulfed by sleeping bag,
Christmas tree lights glowed red
and I couldn't help thinking how upstairs
you were sleeping alone, where six months before
we lay together, and how I now felt closer
to my inflatable alien friend.