An armored man

stands at the end

of a pulsating circle

his mouth a wide oval.

 

Will he step inside

or try to hide?

Instead he’s sucked in

amid a high-pitched wind

which twists the skin.

 

Inside, secrets writhe

in and out of his mind

black box, area 51

revealed truth, one by one.

 

A species, familiar but fair

clip a lock of his hair

with only this DNA

they will find a way.

 

A clone so concise

but its skin feels like ice

infiltrate it will

take over until

Earth’s surface is chill.

 

Peace is the plan

more men are replaced

anger, hate – erased

turn into a race

that join hand in hand.

 

– Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21