Non-alien

Gloominess dances on the windows
when everything is unmoved,
stagnant,
froze.
My calls back home
disconnects
when I’m talking
about the food
I made for lunch,
my suitcases
still unpacked,
water has never been
this cold in the kettle
even after an hour,
and my words are tumbling
under my tongue
nowhere to go,
but inside this room
where the 3 alien men on pictures
secretly listen to all
my rather incoherent phrases patiently,
and maybe smile, slyly,
but listen, listen most of all,
and maybe alien men
are no so alien, today.