New poem.

The most elegant part 
of being in a privileged body
is the ease and grace permitted to one
when avoiding difficulty.  This is not to say

one never feels pain or trauma; such a body
does not entirely prevent harsh moments
of injustice or regrettable instances
of sanction and unlawful control.  What it means

is that one can, with less fuss, slip on white gloves
and reveal to those who can offer redress
for such inconveniences the small dirt and flecks of blood
which have adhered to one as a result

of the aforementioned distresses, and 
(one would surmise) thus compel those redresses
along with appropriate apologies
from the offenders. One must see this privilege

as a deserved elegance, as fine as china
on the long table, as clean
as the drawn out whistling
of those bombs and bullets used to secure it,

or one risks it being taken away.
The price of having such elegance
in the air you breathe, in the water you drink,
in the ground below your well-shod feet

is to accept it even if you recognize
how others must bleed and die and fight and sob
for their losses in order for you 
to gain.  If you cannot or will not accept that, 

if you find yourself gnawed open
by this wisdom, know that the air
will still be there for you, perhaps colder
and more bracing; the water will still be there for you,

sweeter if scarcer; once you’ve given
the right to such privilege away, the ground below your feet
will still hold you no matter how clumsy you may become,
no matter if you fall while walking the new path.