VISITORS

They landed at last,
touching down in Central Park
in their gorgeously decorated ships
like maple leaves falling
precisely; and were received
with respect and ticker-tape.
Not repulsive after all,
but tall and long-tailed, furry,
they walked with slinky grace
like black teenagers.
Their gift is all the wisdom
of the civilised Galaxy
"The cure for cancer?
This is simple. At the first full moon
after the Winter Solstice,
decapitate a black cockerel;
drain the blood into a silver cup . . . "
et cetera.
Are they serious?