An Alien in the Metro

I remember his lizard-like skin, elbowing
through the door, stooping as he swore

at a toddler, in a stroller, voice cracked as coke.
The young Mum jolted from a daze

into an onslaught, eye-whites ablaze;
brown shudder, mouth aghast as he says:

Retournez dans votre pays.  Vous n’êtes pas civilisés.

A deathly quiet struck ice and we listened
to a squeal of brakes then chugged into outer space.

At this point something took over from outside.
I rose in a flash: Racism is illegal Monsieur, I replied.

Most of the people in the train promptly vanished
but two black women snapped: Pauvre con!

which started a pingpong of insults like bullets.
I tried to explain they were playing his game.

Yet no, we were already heading for Uranus.
The lack of fresh air made me nauseous, the being

buzzed: Can’t you see they are all savages?
The tot clutched his teddy, heavy with sobs.

I was relieved when we landed at Place d’Oc.
Things like this don’t happen on our planet.


Kate Hill-Charalambides
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Kate Hill-Charalambides would be pleased to hear them