They will come from the stars
and be somewhat like us, we hope,
but different enough that
we can remain alive for now;
they will have a history, they will have names
and think us quaint and gauche,
and they will not have recipes –
no alien grandmothers pickling beets,
no collards and raisins, they will not care for
the smells of oregano or roasting lamb;
they will have no fascination for food
and as such,
we will never understand them.

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