I Wish I Were An Alien

EXERCISE: “Report from the Surface” What I admire about Anthony McCann’s poem “Report from the Surface” is that it restores a sense of wonder to the world. Even parking meters seem strange and new. McCann also, in a humorous and unassuming way, addresses existential problems like loneliness, isolation, identity, and desire. And so, your mission, should you choose to accept, is to write a poem from the perspective of an alien visiting earth. *** —Courtesy of Teaching Writer Joe Chapman (2007-2010).

Report from the Surface 1.

You do not understand but
I have been to the other side and
part of me is not here, here
in the parking lot, on this planet
with the parking meters like stray hairs.
The parking meters are my friends. Excuse me:
I would like to befriend lonely things
but it does not stop it.
Stop me from eating them. Snapping their necks.
Crunching their heads. O.
Being here. On this planet
with the weird thing bubbling
just beneath the surface. And all that we can do
is to stand here
in our too-tight suits with the insignia.
All that we can do is to
touch the plants and smile, the little silver plants
that shiver. This is not OK.
But it does not stop me.
So you see that I am an unusual person
in the uniform of the starfleet.
That it is painful to move my neck like this.
That I am not happy.

My heart is beating so fast I enter a kind of sleep.
Here in the window I drift
in the glamorous noise
of buses. O generous vehicles! . . .

(Am I hungry? I think that I might be hungry.)

Nice trees you have on this planet,
Very Nice Trees.

Did I mention that I was hungry?

Most pleasant weather! Most admirable sky!
And yet I felt somehow it was terrible nearby
right there, just above my head and somehow
edible. Bland, crumbly, like a cracker.
Most breakable, like my face.

My heart is beating so fast I enter a kind of sleep.
I am a vague thing, with arms and legs.

Call me Visitor.

Here on this planet, this obscure planet with trees
and pleasant machinery (well lit and
most admirable), I am hardly here.

O, to be in the parking lot
on this planet, with the parking meters like spiteful hairs.
You do not understand.
I am all alone here. I am the entire away team.
On this delirious planet I sat we
out of some need. As in
all that we can do.
As in all that we can do
is to touch
the too tight pants and smile.
The pants with the insignia. O.
It is painful to move my jaw like this.
Here on this planet where the tired thing moves
just beneath the surface
and I am vague and hungry.

––Anthony McCann, from Father of Noise, 2003