"The Day the Saucers Came" by Neil Gaiman
 
That Day, the saucers landed.
Hundreds of them, golden, silent coming
down from the sky like great snowflakes,
and the people of Earth stood and stared
as they descended, waiting, dry-mouthed to
find out what waited inside for us and
none of us knowing if we would be here
tomorrow, but you didn't notice it
because that day, the day the saucers
came, by some coincidence, was the day
that the graves gave up their dead and
the zombies pushed up through the soft
earth or erupted, shambling and dull-eyed,
unstoppable, came towards us, the living,
and we screamed and ran, but you did not
notice this because on the saucer day,
which was zombie day, it was Ragnarok
also, and the television screens showed
us a ship built of dead-men's nails, a
serpent, a wolf all bigger than the mind
could hold, and the cameraman could not
get far enough away, and then the gods
came out, but you did not see them coming
because on the saucer-zombie-battling-gods day the flood gates broke and each
of us was engulfed by genies and sprites
offering us wishes and wonders and
eternities and charm and cleverness and
true brave hearts and pots of gold,
while giants feefofummed across the land and killer bees, but you had no idea of any
of this because that day, the saucer day,
the zombie day, the Ragnarok and fairies
day, the day the
great winds came and snows and the cities
turned to crystal, the day all plants
died, plastics dissolved, the day the
computers turned, the screens telling us
we would obey, the day angels, drunk and
muddled, stumbled from the bars and all
the bells of London were sounded, the day
animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti
day, the fluttering capes and arrival of
the Time Machine day, you didn't notice
any of this because you were sitting in
your room, not doing anything, not even
reading, not really, just looking at your
telephone, wondering if I was going to
call.
