Body Snatchers

Celluloid dreams stick to our
skin in the damp Florida night.

Some follow us home from the
army base theatre, lie with

us in the enveloping dark,
as the grandfather clock, bongs the hours away,

body snatchers, would they snatch me?
I lift the covers off my face, peek out the window.

Would I be lost in the silvery starlight?
Would anyone know I was gone?

I hear my brother's gentle snore,
if they snatch him, would I play tag with a phantom Gary?

I grab hold of my bride doll;
her veil scratches my cheek as

I try to push this story out of my bed,
body snatchers surround me, whirling dervish dancers.

I'm dizzy, like spinning on our front lawn,
watching the universe turning inside out.

I wake up screaming, screaming.
My parents rush in bleary eyed.

"Who are you? Who are you?" I yell, pushing them back,
"Where are my real parents?"