Day five
at the McDonald’s drive-thru.
I have my mask on.
Imagine
6 0 0 y e a r s
with a mask on.
I thank God.
I order the same thing:
a small iced coffee
with two creams.
$1.14 is the total.
I don’t politick
about the price hike.
Capitalism is squeezing my wallet,
but not my insides.
I can
breathe.
I thank God.
Happy meals
are nice,
but happy people
are everywhere...
Aren’t they?
I drive up.
The worker winks,
a young black woman.
She’s here again.
Maternal, nimble.
S h e e x t e n d s h e r h a n d.
I want to hold it.
“You’re always so
nice, so friendly.”
I grab my drink.
“People will treat you
how they’ll treat you,
whether you’re nice
or not,” she answers.
“See, God is the only one
I answer to.”
I go back the next day.
I tip her
with smiles
and waves.
Because she tipped me.
S h e s m i l e s a n d w a v e s.
I smile, but I am angry—
not at her, the world.
I can stand
whether I’ve been
treated poorly or not.
I am seen
whether I wear a mask
or not.
George Floyd
cannot stand.
Trayvon Martin
cannot be seen.
We must stand for them.
We must make them seen.
We must give the system
a taste of their hell.
Then we can
S m i l e a n d w a v e
and have it mean something
to everyone, not the few.
Then we can
S m i l e a n d w a v e
Not in fear
that our Black friends
will be maimed and slain
by trigger-happy police.
Not in fear
that our BIPOC families
will be harassed
while walking down the street.
Not in fear
that Black women
will be assaulted
while doing their jobs.
One day we will
S m i l e a n d w a v e
without our masks on.