The people who help us deserve our respect and appreciation…always.
There’s a taco place
on the corner of the street
where I live, and I hardly eat out,
but that rumbling in my stomach
was pulling me towards food
that tasted like home.
So I greet the cashier,
place my order, and wait.
A mom comes in after me,
two kids running around,
spilling chaos left and right.
And impatience darts annoyed, hateful looks
as the cashier struggles to understand,
and the mom asks to speak to the manager.
Ready to solve the most frustrating problem
of this mother’s day,
the manager immediately takes over.
Meanwhile, my order is done,
and the cashier brings it out to me.
I echo the tongue of our ancestors back to her,
and she smiles, grateful for the effort,
and tells me I have a good accent,
then turns back to go appease
disgruntled, white entitlement,
who still has more to say.
And I left thinking,
if my father had married someone else,
I’d be in a similar situation right now.