Lights flicker on the saucer
Farmer squints into the darkened sky
Tracks form in the corn
Another crop circle makes the six o'clock news
"Stop flying drunk!"
Screams the commander
His brightly colored decorations blind the Lt.
"Damn it Lt. you know the humans will report this!"
The Lt. slumps over snoring--shit-faced-drunk
The commander groans and rubs his temple
"I'm not getting demoted over this."
He kicks the Lt. to the floor
And steers the craft away
Taking off at hyper-speed
He cinges the farmer's crops
The farmer looks at his charred crops
He chews on a blade of grass
His wife joins him and says,
"Wish those damn foreigners could drive."