We the People

Of the United States,

Driving our SUVs,

A gun in the backseat.

And yet we wonder why others

Don’t trust us.

 

We the People

Who argue “equality for all”

And yet the minorities’ children

Hand the McDonald’s Happy Meals

To the white sons and daughters

Of college graduates.

 

We the People

Who police the world

In order to provide aid

To those who don’t always want it.

Yet, the civilian casualties

Are “just an accident” we say.

 

We the People

Of the suburbs

With our white picket fence,

Our green yard, our dog.

We love our two-story house.

But what about the other people?

 

The latina chica,

Going to school part-time

As she takes care of her baby,

So she can be a Doctor and a mother.

 

The sixty-year old Irishman,

Who, despite his age, still pulls people

From the flames of buildings,

Risking his own life,

Just to put his two kids through college.

 

The state representative,

American born and raised,

Trying to create positive change

In a Congress that refuses to move forward.

 

The college student, only 18,

Trying to learn a dozen languages

So she can fix her country,

Or at least move to another.

 

The gay brother/son/lover,

Fighting overseas for his country,

Praying for the time

When he can return home

To a country that recognizes

More than his sexual orientation.

 

They are the people.