Phone call from the aliens.
"Yes?  No, I'm not at home."
But the doorbell sounds
Alerting me to their unwelcome presence.

"No, don't come in."
But entrances result and
They scan my living room
For some odd device
They call a Horop.
Exiting with my blender
And remote control.

2/95

Tom's Notes:

Had some other bland title for this poem when I originally wrote it as a journal exercise for my "advanced" poetry class. Later, when digging through some of my old works I decided to change it a bit, and suddenly liked the poem. It's not a great piece, but it's a nice change from many of the more serious pieces I've included here.

Now, if I could only figure out which device is the "Horop" ... the blender, or the remote control.

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