Buoyed up by abbreviations

and a sense of only apathy

I wander to gaga

Send them into space at speed

and imagine they are treated

like some alien race

The talking bed who only speaks terrestrial

The kettle that only boils

The toaster on a short fuse

Perhaps one day they will learn

how to communicate like us

say the aliens over cheese

and alien crumpets

Somewhere on the planet

someone has made a discovery

He is human afterall

Perhaps he could interperet

between these contraptions.

and the home planet

and then lead a mission for the aliens

Then he would not be the lien

but a toaster human

A quick poem by Andrew Watkins © 2020