Come down here to colonize

us and enslave us—

damn your white skin!

Great hairless sexless

things. No eyes to see,

no ears, no nose,

no fingers even nor toes

to feel with.

No tongues for taste

or talking by—you use

instead those massive

triangulish craniums

to communicate

your gloomy message

of mind bending

intellectual doom.

 

On Speer Boulevard,

in the sacked city

of the high plains,

you dance the

celebratory twostep

of your impending conquest.

 

No areol nor jellyroll,

no dick to differentiate

you. One leads the other

in an alien outside turn,

free arms raised to the skies—

the pestilence which bore you.