The Third Kind
 
We are aliens
not of this earth.
We don't live
by the same civilized codes
that determine humanity.
We are where rape is more likely
than second grade.
We perish in volumes
like fumigated cockroaches
in refurbished high-rises
and are regarded
with the forced ignorance
of a new acquaintance
visiting on a Saturday afternoon
and decides it would be impolite to stare.
Our cries are lost in the airlessness
between meteors.
We have the sunken eyes
and hallowed cheeks
of the third kind
and a few whisper of us
with the same forgetful sensation
of Roswell.
Most don't believe we exist.
We do.
We are aliens.
Darfur is another planet
and our rivers run red here.
 
~Published in the Taj Mahal Review