in living color

A gray 1957 Ford Thunderbird was reported on the local radio..

Going 95 miles per hour…

My heart was steady at 93 beats per minute..

And still, it wasn’t enough to convince them…

That I was anything more than an extraterrestrial being…

As the brisk Autumn air returned me..

To my natural state of grace..

I nearly forgot about the dangers of peril..

My hands in the air catching a breeze,

While the world called the police..

Red lights never bothered me…

Only when they were mixed with blue hues and sirens..

I inhaled and held onto my seat..

They knew they couldn’t lose me, as I am the last of my kind..

Our Thunderbird was reaching its peak, increasing in speed..

An old flame said “they don’t see what I see”..

A blockade ahead of us, we had created a crime scene..

Optimistic, I knew I would never die in my dreams..

I suggested that the world isn’t always black and white..

Inside we are pink, sometimes we feel blue..

Repeatedly stuck in the middle like a yellow light..

We pushed the brakes to their capacity..

Surrounded by onlookers and state troopers..

Flashing lights, and lost believers..

The colorful houses, the stories on every corner..

The scattered pieces of history...

Among the debris…

At last, we were in living color…