On Monday, you brought your emerald-green body into a HOA neighborhood of white, brown, and black-skinned Homo sapiens. After the cobalt force on your home planet eliminated your family, you fled slaughter to an official with a crimson tie. His voice echoed “you are welcome” within gated community bars. Along a common cul-de-sac, you observed the residents radiated comfortably within their mortgaged homes built to satisfy heartbeats reverberating in biped creations transported in capsules that wheeled along curved roads in order to reach stationary enclosures, which ensured they received currency based on the solar time they stared at a screen.
On Tuesday, a female in the shade of a sand dollar brought her offspring to a juniper field (I smiled when you told me today, your ensnared Sunday, this grass species is akin to your father’s complexion). The female projected a loud volume into a portable cell phone. Her carob hair sat bundled in a tight compression. On the field, the offspring moved in vigorous aggression within a congestion of fellow springs who all sought to kick one ball into a woven prize. You joined the participants who slapped their hands together in an approving pattern. You joined even as they heaved glares at you. You joined as if you belonged in their net of cheers.
On Wednesday, an obsidian male poured black liquid down his throat. He wore a dark jungle jacket with circle & star metal objects fixed to the left side of his chest. In front of his leaf-painted home, he reclined over dead screaming trees nailed together to maximize leisure. You waved hello as the male’s face constructed a sneer for you.
On Thursday, you ordered a burrito from a pecan employee. She dropped a saliva offering into a carmine salsa cup, and you snatched a wrapped beef tongue off the counter with your three elongated fingers. Nineteen minutes later, after you plopped onto a wooden seat before your square window, you placed your burrito onto spherical glass. Just as you drenched salsa onto your consumption, an unknown hand propelled a brick into your living room. Hard red earth struck the back of your bulbous head. With your 6:44 PM frame sliced by shards, pearled blood expelled from your head and a galaxy of epidermic cuts. When you gaped through the empty yawning of shattered glass, an adolescent male with onyx attire sprinted across your front lawn and onto a sidewalk getaway. He glanced back upon your blood coagulating into a fist.
On Friday, you carried a hello at 8:14 PM towards a penny neighbor of the male persuasion. Mark Samuel’s vermillion shirt pulled you back to the tree still sprouting anew in your native neighborhood where your mother’s body is buried in the shade of scarlet branches. Alongside the neighbor’s eager sidewalk bounce, a smooth waxen canine bound by a scarlet leash re-centered your attention. You witnessed Mark welcome fresh basketfuls of oxygen into his mouth. Since you once breathed oxygen in the atmosphere of your birth and now on community ground, you moved closer to his proximity. Before you could vocalize on your oxygen union, he screamed and sprinted behind his home’s locked door. In ten heartbeats, Mark burst out with a shotgun and a grin. He pressed his barrel into your bandaged head while you pressed your lips onto the blacktop road.
At 8:24 PM, an oyster female arrived in a black-and-blue vehicle with a rhythmic auditory presence. Officer Sandy Washington demanded you stand but never stare into her jurisdictional eyes. “What happened to your head?” “An adolescent male assaulted me with a brick.” “Well you must have deserved it. Why did you approach Mr. Samuels?” “We both breathe oxygen.” “Do you enjoy breathing oxygen?” “Yes.” “You will answer yes, sir!”
Under a stalking moon, Sandy yanked out her nightstick to pound your brain. You dropped bloody in a streetlight’s glare. Her thumbs squeezed your sight until they burst. In your cavernous sockets, two holes of falling depth. Sandy threw your screaming throat first into her vehicle’s backseat and then a cement cell.
On Saturday, your hands examined a bed, toilet, and steel bars: the contents that comprises your confined world. Your mother and father and brother breathed within mirrored walls as they waited for their execution. Minus visual processing, you howled. You howled in the hope your sound waves extend into the cosmos. Can they find your mother’s scarlet grave? Sandy squawked at you to shut up, but a blind canine cannot stop barking. You turned your vapid vision to window bars. Wind skipped across your face. You heard the universe talking.
On Sunday, a songbird chirps hello from the free vantage of your window. Once the greeting ceases, you lie horizontal on your back to visualize emerald wings flying their owner’s heart away from colored humans within gated suburbia.