To Those We Haven’t Met, Run

A newcomer arrives.

A foreigner from an unknown place, unrecognizable to your own. An alien.

Immediately it is interpreted to be an invader of your world.

An enemy that must be destroyed.

No curiosities. No questions asked. No Consideration.

Let’s kill it! you think,

because you’re a person of action. You don’t dilly-dally.

You nod your head with reassurance, for yourself.

It’s better to act now, and ask later. Its intentions, unknown.

Even if you would be better off in the end by not killing it,

you scatter shots in its direction until the magazine is empty.

Its body collapses, muscles quivering, then motionless and still.

Its temperature equalizes with the cold tiles on the floor.

Only then, do you walk over to investigate it; To take in a good look.

Only then do you inquire to its beginning, its story, and its life history.

Only then do you care that it had a name,

but only then, is it too late to have that conversation,

and only then is its voice forever sealed behind its rigor-mortised lips.