sonnet two
emma miller
Alas, this shit is hard but I will try
To tell the tale that not but few have heard.
I have no proof, but truth is not a lie.
And thus you must receive my word.
A summer’s night, with friends who could not see.
We ate below the moon, McChicken feast.
Three figures came, beheld only by me.
Scary, twas not, for they arrived in peace.
“Not now,” I sighed, my McChicken unate,
“I’m chillin here, let’s talk at home instead.”
“Okay,” they spoke, “we’ll see you before late.”
That night they came and stole me from my bed.
No pokes, no prods, no figures shall I birth.
Only one thing conveyed, we must save Earth.
