Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Nineteen
Spring 2009
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Emily, It’s Better This Way
Christopher Citro

They landed in the morning and nothing happened.
It was six hours before the hatch split.

When finally they emerged, we strained to see
faces, but their helmet visors were mirrored—

we looked and pointed and saw ourselves.
The spacemen lumbered out, bounced around

on the lawn like great big children
in silver snow suits, dancing in slow motion.


Then the sirens blew and we knew
the tornadoes were coming. The sky went

green and we headed for cover. The last person
to see the spacemen was Emily. Before ducking

into the shelter, she looked back and saw one
begin to lift off into the sky. Another spaceman

tried to hold that one down, but he lost his footing
and both of them shot into angry clouds.

About Christopher Citro

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