My aunt in her heyday
Scanned the skies
For signs of alien life,
Her skeptical husband bemused.
He looked out the window
On an evening of strange,
Flickering lights across the lake,
And called to her, companionably,

Hey, honey, here’s one of your UFOs.
Cheerful and accepting,
He’d already been through
World War II in the Pacific,
Owned a sand-and-gravel business,
Came home for lunch every day,
And much to my 12-year-old-self’s
Surprise and delight, thought

His wife a beautiful woman.
No need to look elsewhere.
Years later, the world’s again agog
With chatter about outer space.
Where we might fly, the moon
Or Mars? Who might be out there?
And did we just find a planet
With signs of microbial life?

Why, I wonder, do I find myself
Yearning for Uncle Orsie’s
Earthbound life, the scent of dirt,
Gravel, the muddy-bottomed lake?
Could I fall in love with Mars?
Red rock and a dust fine as talc,
Where one day a man and a woman
Might wave to each other across a dry lakebed?