I wonder, if you were ninety-foot two,
had hair of bright orange and skin of blue:
what if you had no less than eighteen arms
And liked to stomp on cities and farms?

What if you ate whole cows and munched horses
And fought in battle with the Armed Forces?
If whenever the Japanese saw you, they fled
Would it be because you had not hands but claws, instead?

If you lived in a secret base on the moon
With your acid-spitting lizard platoon
Would you live in a gigantic crater
And be able to intimidate even the Lord Darth Vader?

What if you breathed radioactive fire
And were constantly tripped up by telephone wire?
Would you be in league with creatures from Mars
And get sore feet from stomping on cars?

Everyone would be so very terrified
Whenever they saw you they'd run and hide.
But even if another, distant planet you were from
I'd still be glad to say you were my mom.