Believer On The Steppe

The view upward.
The view upward.

Everyone gathers on

Small wooden planks

As the eldest son

Pulls up a report,

But nothing official,

And begins to recite

The words therein.

The sister carries

Pots and pans

Back to their rightful

Spots in ascending

Towers on top of

The cabinets that

Are missing windows.

The brother stares down

At the floor and

Waggles his shoes,

Basketball in hand,

Shirt removed,

Still hot even though

It was raining.

The mother inhales

And breathes out,

The dragon of the clan,

Eyes narrowed intently,

Grasping at the words

With butterfly nets.

Something is said

That startles the sister;

She cannot believe

What her brother says,

But he goes on,

Not losing his cadence,

Steady and forceful.

Mother speaks in

Quiet tones words

Of accusatory nature,

Causing the son

To sharpen his words,

Honing to a fine point

And rapidly firing,

Barrel overheated.

He speaks in words

That sound like those

Of the ones he

Desperately seeks

To know of,

Steady streams from

Runic stock ticker.

Talks of other worlds,

Other lands with

Distant technology

That perform magic

With blinking lights

Like the one flickering

Street lamp

Just down the street.

Anywhere must be

Better than here

With its mud puddles

That catch tires

Like snares,

Its broken roads

And swaying

Electricity that bats

Its eyes at whim.

Somewhere that

Has excitement

With exciting creatures

Who defy the mind

Unlike mangy dogs

And mindless cattle

With fly-bitten eyes

Chewing cud.

Stories are woven

With evidence piling,

Adding the excitement

In the cooking room.

The rain drawls on,

In Southern gait,

Yawning as it moves

Onward,

Unmoved by

The brother’s tale.

Composed 07/15/2012

Author’s Note: My host brother, who studies at a technology university, has his laptop filled with evidence of UFOs, alien encounters, and creatures from cryptozoology. It was not the sort of afternoon activity I was expecting when I was called into the kitchen that day.

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