The Privilege

When I am at lunch, I watch them come and go.

They sit at a table together, laughing like they don't have a care in the world.

If they want to, they can blast their music loud as hell.

Or if they care to debate politics, they don't worry about if things get heated...or even better, if someone overhears them.

They have their vision of America....beautiful, the flag, respecting those who serve, a cold beer and football.

Statistically the majority of them get to live to be old, retire, die in peace.

Oh, and the American dream is still alive and well.

I watch them as I eat, taking a sip out of my glass, wondering what the fuck that is like.

The other day I was going on break and an older woman saw me in my middle-aged dad shirt, dad shorts, looking about as threatening as a rose petal. She sped up her pace, grasped her purse tighter and got to her car as soon as she can, looking back at me several times as she walked away.

I laughed.

I know people will say I was imagining things.

But then again, this is the portrait that is the country I live in.

I saw the president said folks who were legally elected to, because their skin was brown, to go back to their country...even though these people were either naturalized citizens or BORN here.

I watch them eat, and damn they are comfortable.

I wonder what the fuck that is like.

I look behind me, and finish my last French fry, pay my bill and begin to walk out of the door.

Someone is coming in with their friends, laughing. One of them hold the door for me, and I smile, just as my mother taught me, thanking them for the gesture.

They are all comfortable.

Damn, I wonder....what the fuck.