Alien Baby Sitting

It’s supposed to be a child.
I offer it candy.
And a Marvel comic.
It spits out the gumball.
But chews heartily
on poor Spiderman.

I never asked to be baby-sitter
to something green
and two headed
with more limbs
than I have ribs.
And it makes a kind of googling sound.
Communication is impossible.

Ever been peed on
by something from the other side
of the galaxy?
Probably not.
Or had your finger nibbled?
Or your eyes near-poked out?

It needs its mother.
That enormous blob of green
that it calls, “Gagaboo.”
Or its mothership.
Even better.