The following is a short story poem I wrote In my notes app while on the toilet:

Over earth a starship sputtered,

flung from the heavens, through clouds it fluttered.

Over rooftops,

over hills,

Till it tore to earth,

and screeched to still,

coming to rest in a countryside farm field.

The following morn the farmer found it,

wing tips reaching for the sky.

And when he found the pilots body,

He held back an awed and mournful cry.

There it sat,

the star man,

in his tiny seat,

His body broken up such that his head was wedged between his feet.

That night,

as he ate his food in thoughtful chews,

the farmer contemplated what to do.

He felt it wrong to leave the star man out there rotting in the heat,

so the farmer grabbed his coat and went to take the star man from his seat.

He began to dig a grave,

intent to give the poor pilot a proper burial,

but all his good intentions were undone by his wife Muriel.

She carted off the body,

and sold it to a traveling circus,

and when the farmer heard from her, he felt forlorn and furious.

But the money bought a brand-new tractor,

and the farmer calmed down shortly after.

Though even now,

decades later he still can’t smile at Muriel,

cause deep deep down,

for what she did,

he knows he kinda hates her.

And so it went,

and the star man’s corpse came to be presented to an embalmer,

who preserved him with formaldehyde and methanol and polymer.

Then he set him in a child’s coffin and sent it on its way.

The coffin was on display for fourteen years in the circus tent exhibits.

Toured around all cross the states,

till the circus quit garnering visits.

In all the star man’s fourteen years amongst the circus freaks,

less than twenty circus goers paid to take a peek.

Of those less than twenty people,

only five of them believed,

that what they saw was anything more than another taxidermy cheat.

In total only ten people knew for certain the story of the star man,

but nine of them stayed silent and never spoke about it.

The only one who spoke again was my grandpa,

farmer Benjamin,

who in 1977,

bought the star man’s body back,

and finally got to bury him.