Look, Up in the Sky
I never understood my father.
I thought it was because
we looked nothing alike.
I would sneak out to watch
Pa work in the corn fields.
I'd be behind the stalks;
the humidity gluing the shirt
to my chest. At night, he would cut
crop circles, and explain how now
this would be the one place
people wouldn’t look for aliens.
Everyone scans the sky for glowing lights,
but can’t see what crashes
right in front of their face. I guess
that’s why even though I can see
the wing on a fly across the yard,
he has me wear glasses.
I never understood my father.
I thought it was because
we looked nothing alike.
I would sneak out to watch
Pa work in the corn fields.
I'd be behind the stalks;
the humidity gluing the shirt
to my chest. At night, he would cut
crop circles, and explain how now
this would be the one place
people wouldn’t look for aliens.
Everyone scans the sky for glowing lights,
but can’t see what crashes
right in front of their face. I guess
that’s why even though I can see
the wing on a fly across the yard,
he has me wear glasses.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson