little green men

she talks in whispers,
leans over
to the table where we're gathered,
a stranger
wanting to join in,
and says,
do you believe in aliens.
my friend says,
you mean people from
other countries, no, no,
she says, obviously
deep into a bottle of
red wine.
I mean aliens, she points
to the ceiling and twirls
her hand around.
from outer space, she says.
then makes her fingers
wiggle on top of her
head as if to indicate
antennae.
sure, we all say. why not.
come and join us,
if you'd like. so she does,
then we listen to her talk
excitedly
about the time she was
kidnapped by a group
of aliens, examined, then
let go. she shows us a little
scar on the back of the neck
and says,
I think they put something
in me. she whispers. they're
watching me.
she's serious, so we don't
laugh. she looks sleepy,
exhausted from the alien story.
the bill comes, and we all
walk her out to the curb,
where we call an uber for her.
and wave, she puts
a finger to her lips, rolling down
the window in the car
and whispers
don't tell anyone. they're out
there, she says,
pointing to the sky.
be careful.