They Were Here

A silver ship
thrusts like a mushroom
up through terra firma
and into the atmosphere.

It grinds slow and loudly,
as a rumble like an earthquake
precedes its coming,
and the ground around
heats up like a giant stove.

A cone atop, like a warrior’s helmet,
is dented and grooved
from impact with
mantle and crust,
but its innards, its crew,
are protected
by layer after layer
of tough metal,
and below,
a propellant of fire
drives it upward.

At last,
the creatures from the earth’s core
have made it to the surface.

Then, out of fuel,
they plunge backwards
down the hole they’ve made.

A solitary lizard
watches the whole thing
from the shade of a rock
on a wide, flat desert plain.
They picked the wrong place.
to start a rumor.