Thursday, February 11, 2010

The End of the World

The End of the World

always starts with invasion:
aliens swoop down from the Mother Ship,
attack with shiny, technologically
advanced weapons, take us
by surprise

they abduct our children
for cold-blooded experiments,
tear apart lovers, families, towns,
destroy communication systems,
starve us out

they rape our women, our girls,
chase us as we run homeless
from one freshly bombed hell
to the next, prey to pale drones
with big round eyes and no hearts

our medicines don’t work against
evil spore pouring off their bodies,
the Resistance forms, martyrs
for the larger good,
oh, the nobility!

the aliens always lie:
tell us they desperately need
some old rocks in the hills
or directions to another planet
or say “just passing through”

they meet with our surviving leaders
in broken cities, sign
peace treaties translated by -
you guessed it - their interpreters,
shake hands or claws or tentacles

(one special alien always rebels,
tries to help the Earthlings, even falls
in love with one of us, but
ends up executed by superiors,
betrayer of the race -

the mixed-species child
of this tragic union always
meets an anguished end
having to do with messy
skin mutations,
divided loyalties)

in general, the storyline makes
for great drama, slick Hollywood
special FX, pyrotechnic battles,
flying body parts, desecrated
national monuments. . .

cast members always represent
a diverse range of stereotypes:
Maverick White Guy, one step
ahead of everyone else, Black
Doctor with a chip on his shoulder,

Latina Gang Member kicking alien ass
in tagged back alleys, Geeky Asian
solving logistic problems with only
his grandfather’s trusty abacus, campy
transvestite smuggling contraband in D-cups -

but have you ever noticed
there are never any Indians
in these apocalyptic movies? Geesh.
how could they forget about us?

–story of our lives.
© Deborah A. Miranda

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