My Dream Lunch

Walking down the busy street surounded by melodious voices, low and deep, high and sweet. I enter a building to my right. My mouth waters, an aroma fills my scences. Juicy meet, savory treats, pleasing to my sight. Walking to the counter, suddenly I feel cold. The hardness in his eys is all too familiar Taking a breath, I try to be bold. I order quickly, nervously paying the price. He hands back change, and then I move to the side. A quick "Thank you, have a good day!" would have been nice. Next in line moves up, a blond in high heels. The man's eys change, he flashes a huge smile, then descibes to her the daily deals. What did I do to deserve his hate? What did she do to earn his smile? I'm tired of being second rate. I think of Woolworth's lunch counter protest, and how those students took a stand. Times are better now, but not yet the best. I am so thankful for those mighty four, how together they sat despite the hate. Because of them, today I entered that door. Like Martin Luther King Jr., I also have a dream. A dream of finally ending this war, this hate. Of joining together as one, a team. All those voices outside the door, unknowingly united, they create a tune. Harmonious, it shakes me to the core. The power of raised voices, what could happen, just think, if together we made the right choices. If with purpose we sang, of a love that knows no bounds and throughout the world it rang. If we all loved our neighbor, looked within, past the veneer and found each person's true flavor I took my food, and sat at a table. I ate in contemplative silence, dreaming of a lunch when I'm no longer stuck with a lable.