There is a piece of ooze on the sidewalk
It could be the casing of some wondrous slug
Or a segment of jelly made from cow hoof.
It could be some snot from a child,
Or it could be alien ooze
Invisible antennas perked, listening.
Relaying your voice to its masters as you say: “Ick!”
And when your voice is decoded,
the masters will know you feel disgust at their form.
We cannot go there, they will say, to share our marvelous
instrument, the Celestial Harmonica.
No, if we ooze aliens go to this earth, they will see us as mere
hunks of snot.
Better, then, if the ooze is the casing of some wondrous slug
Or a segment of jelly made from cow hoof.
