A Poem by Keith Kopka

by Mark Bibbins, Editor

Ancient Astronaut Theory

My friends’ marriages are failing
in their collective prophecy of a future
where people in love beat the natural
universal order. But isn’t it possible,
asks the omniscient voiceover,
and I’m thinking, sure,
the pyramids were built by aliens,
Adam and Eve were celestial
beings, and all of us are just
stones paving the road to a Mayan
apocalypse. My friend Don believes
he’s good at scratch tickets. I’ve
seen him scrape a whole stick figure
family off the back windshield of a
minivan. We are not alone, the voice-
over says, and the debris left by all
the weddings on Earth forms a comet
of hors d’oeuvres and cocktail
napkins barreling through the
coat check room of our singular
universe. Don declares he’s never
getting married. He’s going to ride
his scratch-off skills all the way
to the state Powerball, buy an RV,
and find the alien settlement of
Branson. I don’t believe he’ll find it,
so its existence doesn’t matter. This
is the circular logic that ignores
your spouse deadbolting the door
when you go out to investigate
the light in the backyard.

Keith Kopka is the Managing Director of the Creative Writing Program at Florida State University. His poetry and criticism have appeared in journals such as Mid-American Review, New Ohio Review, Ninth Letter, The International Journal of The Book, and others.

You will find more poems here. You may contact the editor at poems@theawl.com.