between bands, outside, people’s hands are moving to light cigarettes, to roll cigarettes, to search for lighters to pass to strangers, to send a text
a little bit of drizzle is coming down grimly into people’s hair, it is going down people’s necks without regret: it is the time of year that is no time, (it is not summer, or nearly summer, the only times that matter)
the aliens are among us tonight the UFO came down a mile away
in the bathroom they are conducting probes, to our delight, and on the stage one was drumming – the aliens are asking for complicated drinks at the bar, asking for more and more ice cubes
I am indoors in the basement dancing with an alien who loves my psychedelic shirt, who wears an opaquely silver space helmet
I keep saying Take it off in a flirty voice the alien keeps saying I cannot breathe the gas on this planet and so cannot, but I am glad so glad you want to see my face
Lenni Sanders (she/they) is a writer based in Manchester, England. Lenni's debut pamphlet Poacher came out with the Emma Press in 2019. Poems have been published in The Tangerine, Butcher's Dog, Occulum, Adjacent Pineapple, and elsewhere. Twitter: @LenniSanders