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D.E. Fredd decorative flourish A UFO Spotted Low on the Horizon of a Citizen’s Home State

They by-pass Maine altogether.

Peek into Vermont only after the leaf peeper season.

Southern New Hampshire’s the place for them.

Cliff Founts whose pond they dunked into last winter

Says it must be the tax rate

But    whatever    they seem to feed here

In whole packs and    then again    in twos and threes

Keeping out of sight of most folks

More shyness than anything else probably

By no means vindictive    yet

When cornered    they’ll turn on you.

Try to skim you they will

And turn on a blip  blip  blip

Took the paint off a 95 Buick Electra

Drained the battery    ruined the alternator

Young folks they was    necking    along Route 101

Outside Wilton by the old used to be fried clam place

Ainer’s it was but he died    an Agway now

Boy swears they shot a ray at him    erased his memory

Couldn’t even make simple change after it happened.

Was heading for some fixing up computers school.

Does light farm work now, apple season mostly,

Even at that can’t get the gear box down on a John Deere.

They beamed the girl on board.

Got her undressed and up on a platform.

Put a special rod to her. Had a glow to it. Took readings. Let her go.

Doctors say she is as good as can be expected

Considering

So now that they know what our women are like

We can expect any number of them

Which is why most of us are scanning the sky close up each night.

(Seventeen on guard in Peterborourgh alone)

Which is good    cause of    when you start looking for them

They don’t like that.

They can’t snoop quiet over you like they like to

And they’ll pick up and go elsewhere

Hope so anyway.

Fine state here.

Like to keep it that way.

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D. E. Fredd lives in north central Massachusetts and teaches at a small New Hampshire College. He has published poetry in The Paris Review and Café Review. Short fiction soon will or has appeared in The Transatlantic Review, Southern Humanities Review, Rosebud, 13th Warrior Review, Word Riot, The Armchair Aesthete and others he forgets. A novel, “Exiled to Moab”, and a collection of many stories is awaiting publication.