If he were like me, raising his hands high would mean surrender.
But he is not like me.With his hands up he looks even bigger, more threatening
More likely to destroy me.
I must destroy him first
chase him down
grab his throat and not let go
pull my trigger as many times as I can.What if we had met on the street without the uniforms,
the holsters and hoods, that mark our bodies as different?
What if we had fed our bodies together around a table?
Then would I have found him to be like me?
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Words: Kelly Foster
Image: Jim Kast-Keat
Music: Melodysheep
