VISITORS
In my tiny apartment,
I crack a window open
so the full moon
can maneuver in and out.
Iridescent aliens with grasshopper legs
skitter in and perch at my table.
Their high-pitched chatter
punctuates the lyrics from the refrigerator.
When Bastet died, she left meows
in every room, and the aliens meow back.
When I play my music, they twist, twitch and twirl
with an amusing alien dance.
I twitch too, until dizzy drunk,
we collapse on the carpet.
Thank Goddess for these visitors.
Without them, I might go mad.
…..
This poem is from the chapbook Memoirs of a Mean Sax by Jean Fineberg (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/memoirs-of-a-mean-sax-by-jean-fineberg/
Jean Fineberg is an award-winning saxophonist and composer who has studied writing with celebrated poet Kim Addonizio. Her poet father left a new poem on the table every morning, inspiring her to write first “book” at age eight. She has written lyrics for rock and pop albums, and won a motor scooter for her winning poem in a college limerick contest. Her first chapbook, A Mobius Path, was published in 2022.
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