Alien

by Ben Rasnic

I awoke in a strange room curled fetal
on a stone floor mattress.

For breakfast I had water, some stale bread
and several sets of curious eyes
burning waffle lines into my forehead.

The Agency assigned me a number
to count floor tiles for hours
before being called to endure
a series of awkward pauses amid intervals
of incoherent speech.

Finally, I was handed a shovel and pointed
toward a pickup truck loaded
with people who look like me,

proving everything is not always bigger
or better on the other side,
not even in the Lone Star State.