My Dream Lunch
Location
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.