Shooting Stars

In my yard the other day I saw the saucer land.
It was shiny with antennae and sat on a tripod stand.
Three aliens came bounding out, each about three feet tall.
They were dressed like Elvis — Vegas style: sequins, cape and all.
They strolled right up to my Easter display of eggs, chicks and bunnies.
They started singing barbershop as smooth as dripping honey.
But what struck me as really odd and simply quite queer
was the chorus line that joined them of high-stepping reindeer.
They did a quick cancan and two-step line dance.
Then four squirrels skipped in with a hundred army ants.
They put on quite a show for everyone to see.
Then the most amazing thing happened to me.
A black sedan drove up really fast.
Drawing guns, five men poured out all dressed in black.
Their leader came up my walk and pounded on my door.
And I thought I might witness an intergalactic war.
Instead of nabbing the men from space,
they kicked down my door.
They looted every single room, closet and drawer.
With guns to my head and to my heart to hold me at bay,
their leader turned to me and had this to say:
“You didn’t see a UFO or men from outer space.
You didn’t see wildlife acting out of place.
You didn’t see us either and those are the facts.
And as for the looting, consider it cabaret tax.”

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