For Renee [ poetry: what attacks? ]

The day we've all been waiting for
Addressed in movies, songs, and books,
Has come to our now-present's door,
Slyly, despite watchful looks.

There are no tripods, beams of light,
Our skies are flying-saucer- free.
They came to Earth a summer night,
To make their simple hostage'ry.

They came from planet aptly named
After the Grecian god of war
A heavenly body crimson-stain'd;
Burning bright vermillion star.

Perhaps they are around you now,
Over your shoulder this is read-
The unfamiliar firmly vow
To steal you from your creaking bed.

And when those bedsprings have released,
When your body's gone and left,
All the noises dulled and ceased,
Caused by fingers swift and deft,

You will be so far away-
In craft without easy depiction.
How long you'll be I cannot say,
This is a quick-writ work of fiction.

For Renee [ prose: written on a whim ]

The branches reached skyward, scratching the cloudy, troubled heavens and failing to leave a mark. Eleanor Ruby Greenway stood at the bus station and sighed; it should be illegal to have to wait more than fifteen minutes for public transportation.

Only a little past three on a Sunday evening and this weekend had already begun its slow, sullen march to its grave, filled with a heavy sense of resignation. Going to the park was sort of a social excursion, right? After all, there were a lot of people there, and she had even spoken to a man selling red balloons; they had been just like the ones the man in the park had sold in Curious George. Except, that of course there was no Man in the Yellow Hat to buy her one, and there had certainly been no antics or adventures.

A strong breeze blew down the street, as if a semi had roared down this quiet, suburban road. Elly clutched her bag closer to herself and shivered.