Inevitably
When the saucer lands, as it inevitably must, I
will be sent to walk towards backlit, man-shaped forms
while the air crescendos. I will hover on the cusp,
holding out my pinkish hand in sheer relief that we
are not the only accident. I will move slowly. I will hide
my primate teeth. When they find that I speak their tongue,
their inevitably huge eyes will grow wide. They will
show me on board. Induct me in the mores of their kind.
And as we picnic in their pea-coloured rooms,
the world’s press circling outside, I will ask them: What
do you think it means to be a turquoise child
in a world of unending green? To search for the moon
when only suns are in the sky? But they, inevitably, will
not understand what I say. Neither, I suppose, will I.
Nina Parmenter
