Alien abduction and unopened peanut butter crackers.

I'm not the only one who's been waiting to be abducted by aliens.
I've thought about them since the age of seven when 
I first saw a blurry image of a flying saucer 
on a daytime History Channel series-- I wish
I could tell you that I've developed a mature sense
of skepticism but instead I keep a disposable camera
in my back pocket and look at the pupils of the stars
through my brother's telescope still
in our sunroom-- see my self near Orion--
cradled curious in the hammock I make of the little
dipper. My backpack is ready 
(in case it were to happen to me today)--I store supplies
in the bottom below my laptop and Shakespeare text book
so they won't know that I've always been ready
I'm stocked with a blue faded notepad 
and two packages of peanut butter crackers.
I imagine aliens eat from toothpaste tubes that taste
vaguely of metal and okra. Maybe we can trade-- like
packed lunches on a bench in fifth grade.
I know aliens aren't green-- the reports confirm
my suspicions-- They're grey-- grey stone-skinned 
and speaking like radio static in my ears and I 
try to tell them to take me with them-- that I 
won't take Polaroids or attempt to 
fillet them open with scalpels-- that I just want something
more than those blurry photos from
shakey-handed men on roof tops looking for
a glint of saucer and for their own breath in the cool desert night. 
What made you crash in Rosewell and did you try to run?
Did they hold you down and did you wish you had
packed peanut butter crackers? I think of you-- 
I think of you like me-- like we both dream of
how the little dipper could hold us the same--
you can put a chip under my skin and I won't
try to take it out. You can track me and you can jar
just one of my kidneys-- I think we only need one 
and if not maybe you can use it to learn how
to speak to us so you don't sound like radio static--
I think we all sound like radio static sometimes.
I wanted to tell you I've held vigil for you by glow
stick and by telescope. I think that your family
somewhere between the Magellanic clouds on the cusp
of the Andromeda galaxy is holding the same service.
Were you looking for us or for corn fields or
for peanut butter crackers? 
I'll tell you what. We can make bracelets-- the
woven ones that humans make in fifth grade.
Sometimes we call them friendship bracelets--
we can make each other one and that we
we can never forget that everyone wants to sleep
in the swallow tongue of the little dipper
and that enough string can make everyone's voice
clear of radio static.
I'm here. I am here-- here in the front lawn
of a house on the little blue planet where
we write in notepads and take too many blurry pictures--
and you were here with me and one of the packs
of peanut butter crackers was for you.