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
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