Tuesday, December 11, 2012


Photo Credit: www.123RF.com
Here we are huddled around 
tables ten by ten, dutifully 
inspired, gently scolded, vigorously exampled and relentlessly teleprompted toward a triumphant future,

needing to surface for air,
I rise and find the exit, 

squeeze through mammoth ballroom doors like
Dorothy tip toeing away from the wizard's presence,

stepping into bright lights, 

I stumble upon one hundred
tables set for lunch by a battalion 
of brown skinned, black pantsed and vested waiters, casually

hablando el uno con el otro talking easily, camarada con caballero, comadre con cuñado, La Raza right here mere feet outside the land of Oz; 

inside, we cluck our tongues over 
the uninsured and the under-served
whose numbers so awkwardly and 
insistently impinge upon 
net operating margins,

later we will lift food from the plates
carefully placed in front of us
by uninsured hands, efficiently

served by the under-served,

Occasionally someone will lift 
her gaze halfway, eye a 
vest button and murmur 
"Thank you."

Photo Credit: www.crosscards.com

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