Cockle Squash

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It’s Christmas Eve in a town the color of burgundy and pine

Cold stars and tattered clouds float within the inky-bruised canopy

Store windows glow yellow, the brick of the small buildings are the color of slightly burnt toast

People shuffle along the walks frosted with fresh snow

They peek into the shop portals and feel awe in their guts

There’s the smell of wood smoke in the air

Snow slowly falls and the world is night white

A glow-worm bomb cascades from the moon

Refrigeration hums in the sundry shop

Eyes spin in the fruit heads that lie there

The faithful gather at the church on the corner

A white rigid lance pointing to the heavens

Mistletoe muffins are passed around with glorified giggles

Soon everyone is kissing

And God draws the shades

Bible-like fornication ensues on the pews

The angels and the Earth women

Erich von Däniken bursts through the door and exclaims:

“I knew it! I was right.”

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Homes are cold on Christmas morning

The rising sun begins to crackle the ice

A boy and a girl scamper down the stairs to see what Mr. Claus has brought them

But in his stead there are creatures by the lighted tree

The aliens are busy stacking presents wrapped in silver and gold

Their large eyes blossom and their heads turn

The girl screams, the boy runs back upstairs

One of the visitors holds out a cockle squash

The girl’s mind suddenly changes

She goes to the aliens and takes the oddly shaped gourd

She holds it in front of her face, and she wonders

As she sees space within it

Floating stars, zooming orbs, spinning planets

Is this another mind?

Or a diamond mine?

The aliens suddenly retreat through the walls

The fireplace lights up on its own

The girl reaches up and puts the cockle squash on the mantel

She steps back, cocks her head to one side and looks at it

Christmas music on the hi-fi warbles and then comes to full life

The parents and the boy come rumbling down the steps

“What happened down here!?” the father wants to know

The girl turns to look at them

“Hello, my P and M. We had visitors from Christmas space… And they gifted us with a cockle squash.”

She points to the mantel

And everyone claps and smiles

“I’ll get us some egg nog,” the mother says, and she rushes off to the kitchen

The father stands with his children

One on each side

And they worship the gourd with their eyes

“There is something so odd and mystical about it,” the father says

The girl looks up and asks: “After Christmas, do you think I can keep it? I think I’d like to sleep with it.”

The boy laughs out loud. “Only a weirdo would sleep with a cockle squash.”

“Shut up, Brian!” the girl snaps

“Stop it. Both of you,” the father demands

The mother returns to the room holding a tray

“Let’s sit down and sip this egg nog faithfully,” she says. “And then we’ll get ready for church.”

“We don’t need church,” the girl says. “We have the gourd.”

“How dare you speak of such a thing!” the mother scolds

She reaches out a hand and slaps the girl across the face

The girl winces and begins to cry

“Now listen here, Mabel. There is absolutely no need for that! It’s Christmas for Christ’s sake,” the father berates…

And the aliens watch the drama unfold in the household with the cockle squash. They can view everything through it… the screams, the taunts, the disappointed reactions to Christmas gifts, the lack of true joy in Amorika. For they are the angels watching. Not from clouds, but ships.