The Best Western on 107 Piscium E
Shuttles freight humans
to this world, mostly tourists,
here to snap pictures
on beaches made of crystal
and ride the tame dinosaurs.
A family of four
leaves the spaceport in a cab,
sharing their ride with
a seasoned business traveler,
who doesn’t look out windows.
Chittering curses,
the insectoid driver swerves
through lanes poised mid-air,
and leaves them at their hotel,
which boasts both pools and restaurants.
Faceless hotel rooms
overlook alien roads;
the family’s too pleased
to find fault with a view of
traffic and neon billboards.
Downstairs at dinner,
they want to sample local
fare; aquatic slugs,
served medium-rare in honey,
with a side of crispy worms.
The business traveler
a table over, orders
a vat-grown burger,
which he could have had on Earth,
eats only what’s known, mundane.
The family hastens
out of the hotel to walk
streets lit by three moons;
the businessman stays behind—
all his wonder’s been road-killed.