The Green Brains of Owl Creek (Part 2 of my Bluegrass State Trilogy)
An original Poem by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro
Please read along to my Spoken Verse Performance.
Just a couple weeks after Halloween.
That afternoon was quite blustery.
I spied a bunch of brains which were green.
The world had to know of my discovery.
Folks head out to the Devils Tower,
Roswell, and The Groom Lake Facility.
Understanding that knowledge is power,
They're checking out the plausibility,
Of other intelligent life forms' presence.
Are they out there, studying our mannerisms?
Step One, on the road to alien acceptance,
Is grasping warp speed mechanisms.
If not that, then go with "Folding Space",
Achieved by toking spice from Arrakis.
But, either way, we hope we won't face,
Dudes with attitudes like Parallax's.
The evidence they seek,
Was there in Owl Creek.
A minor East End waterway.
But the proof did not survive.
Before the Feds could arrive,
Rain water washed it all away.
So what makes our enclave unique?
Maybe the soccer field and running track.
Such a facility is the kind one might seek,
To stage an Independence Day like attack.
But surely there are other motivations,
For selecting such a suburban scene.
OMG, could it be our fine libations?
What if the liquor cabinet was clean?!?
I ran to the basement, but far too tardy.
Shocked by the damage I was facing.
I couldn't tell if they'd thrown a party,
Or held an intergalactic bourbon tasting.
It was all gone, the fine sipping whiskey,
And the stuff of a more recent vintage.
An insurance settlement wouldn't be easy.
Empty bottles the only proof of the pillage.
Those green brains,
Were all that remained.
Of an extraterrestrial visit.
Now we're left here to mull,
Why aliens empty out their skull,
Before making their Earthly exit.
I know that it might sound absurd,
But my photos clear up any confusion.
They certify that such a landing occurred.
One look, and you'll agree with my conclusion.
The proof you seek,
Was in a small waterway.
That the locals call Owl Creek.
But a front moved through,
And washed it all away.
The green brains of an alien crew.
Take a look around and if you see,
Ugly green things, which have a sticky feel.
That's the fruit of the bois d'arc tree.
The Osage orange, which you can't peel.
I'd like to close out with a little joke.
Osage orange who?
Osage orange you glad that the aliens didn't abduct you!?!
Copyright © Michael Kimbro 2017. All rights reserved.
Keywords: Poems about Osage oranges, alien abductions, Area 51 poetry, Extraterrestrial life form verses, Bourbon whiskey bottles, Odes to Hedge apple bushes, Poems about the Owl Creek neighborhood of Louisville, Kentucky.