SECOND PROBE

Gail Ingram

I lie on crisp sheets,
eagle-spread thighs like meat, waiting
for hook teeth, or
a cold speculum
to trawl my insides.

His hands are fish
he wrings to warm, though I know
from previous experience
they won't be. His face
is pock-dimpled like a corn chip,
his mouth opens
to speak: da-da-da-da-

This is what I hear:
Doritos Doritos
– that ad they beamed
to outer space, somewhere near
Ursa Major in 2008,
which makes me think
of another Major... we are floating
in a mm mm, may God's
love be with yoooouuu...

—da-da-da-da, he flashes his teeth,
a smile… oh

oh! The penetration is sweet.
What did those aliens think
of corn crisps dancing around
a salsa-bowl, preparing joyfully
to be eaten? Did they wonder
at the crunch, the squeal
of palm-oil heat? Were they
hungry?

I wissh you'd sshut up
so we of Urssa Major
cann get onn with it.
It'ss only whenn we're inn
we'll be conssumed
by the marvelss of our featss
the thingss we cann explore

—da -da-da those polyps, for instance

thiss beautiful cavern, oh!
and ssank you for clearing
thosse pessky treess and orangutanss and tigerss,
a great sstart for a colonny… what
progresssss!

I'm hearing this sound
eeeeeeee Dor-eeeeeeeeeee-to
it doesn't hurt... eee...
to be brave. And
what should I expect anyway
if the waves I send
are distracting? It's not
our first meeting, I know. I arranged it
for my own sake.
But I wonder

did the Maori warriors giggle
the first time they saw
the blood flower at the back
of their merchant's head? Or perhaps
it was the clean white savage
with the smoking musket who smiled
at the surprise on Hemi's face.

Thesse days the collection
of a mere few cellss da-da-da
is the besst way to tell
if you are ssick. Besides,
we like your sships.