Mr. Lowery lives at the end
Of a street at the heart of a quiet neighbourhood
That's made up of people who'd happily lend
A shovel or saw or a shoe if they could.

Lowery likes to read telephone books.
Thousands of characters leap off the page.
Some are the heroes, some are just crooks.
He'd like to see it adapted for stage.

Within his own house he walks far and wide.
He needs to be walking to think and form words.
He does this indoors, not when he's outside,
Where most of his thoughts are brought by small birds.

Lowery recently visited space.
One of his friends made a ship that went up.
He saw the blue beauty of his earthly base.
He looked on in awe at his floating tea cup.

He stopped on a planet to go for a walk.
The aliens he met had a welcoming look.
All were quite eager to hear Lowery talk.
He read the O'Briens from the telephone book.

They listened with interest and awe in their eyes,
Wondering where this odd story would go.
He built up the tension and sense of surprise.
With dramatic effect he revealed the ninth Joe.

He got a warm send-off when he left for home.
His landing was aided by sliding on dirt.
He smiled at the welcome from his garden gnome.
But something was missing from his life on earth.

He missed the applause and respect that he got
From alien friends he can no longer see.
The phone book itself seemed so lifeless and not
The thrilling adventure it once used to be.

He tried to recite it outside in the sun
For birds who would have preferred to be fed.
He hoped that a crowd would re-capture the fun,
But the birds showed no interest in what Lowery said.

Not one of them perched on his shoulder or hat
To listen to him or to bring a new thought.
Some only looked at a sleeping stray cat.
Some fell asleep and some of them fought.

With an empty heart and nothing to think,
He went to the pub and he sat at the bar.
He met his friend Kelly who bought him a drink.
With one or two more they'd forget where they are.

Kelly could talk the hind legs off a donkey,
And depress the head off a horse without haste.
His story about a late night with the wrong key
Made human endeavour seem like such a waste.

Lowery left and stepped out in the dark.
The streets in the city were empty of people,
And silent apart from an occasional bark.
The city skyline was lit up by a steeple.

He stopped at the top of a very steep hill.
A snow flake fell on the ground at his feet.
He looked up above, and despite the cold chill,
In his mind and heart he felt only heat.

He saw all the snow flakes as aliens descending,
Each one unique with a name and a number,
Enacting the phone book's start, middle and ending,
Floating to earth and into sweet slumber.

The aliens came here to perform this great play.
He walked through the streets in a white winter world.
The aliens expressed things that no one could say.
The phone book's mysterious appeal was unfurled.

Characters emerged when snow men were made.
People looked on at the alien's design.
The streets teemed with life and attention was paid
To each twist and turn in the snow's storyline.

Lowery left on a natural high.
His love for the phone book continues to grow.
He reads it again and remembers with joy
A beautiful, magical night in the snow.