When the whirring saucers came,

back in the 1950s, they came

for our women,

their breasts bound

in bronze assault bras.

The aliens liked them

well enough, but found them

passive and cool to tenticular touch.

When the slicing saucers come

back in the 21st, they come

for our women,

specific women:

strong postfeminist icons

who sharply rap their knuckloids,

make them say please,

strap on strap-ons,

then ride the aliens into mutually

orgiastic postapocalyptic

frenzies. Bronze bra'd grandmas

watch. First they disapprove.

Then they long. Then they hip

check granddaughters aside,

taking aliens for return engagements,

and really, everyone is happy.