When people ask me about my dad

I tell them

He's with the government,

And so I'm not allowed

To talk about him.

Stops the questions

Most of the time.

 

When I was seventeen

I got a letter

Mom told him to write.

In his broken English

Because he used a translator

He said,

 

Dear Alex,

Your mother tells me you are a boy.

Am I?

I've never had a son before.

So there's a daughter somewhere?

I met your mother in Nevada.

I knew that much.

One-hundred-and-one of us arrived

"Five in binary," Mom said.

To investigate a crude monument

It was wooden

Made by your people

Not my people

In the likeness of our Chancellor.

Narcissistic, any?

 

 

Your people

Not my people

Brought us into ferrous buildings on wheels

RVs

And domiciles of flimsy fabric

Tents

Full of combustion products

Smoking pot

During a "Kudd el Pahti"

Cuddle party

She saw me

Mom did

Mistook me for food

T.M.I.

But when she realized I was not food

I said T.M.I.

She engaged in something that--

La-la-la-la-not-reading-this-part

--Then the authorities arrived

Thank goodness

And the other hundred who arrived with me

Four in binary

Were eliminated

Killed

I survived unseen underneath your mother--

La-la-la-la-not-reading-this-either

--Torched the Chancellor's statue

What they do at Burning Man

Then brought me to a facility nearby

Area 51

And here I have remained.

 

I hope your mother

And you

Are well

These past nine years --

Eighteen in Earth-years.

 

Your Dad