He lives four doors down
from you.
She rides the elevator daily
with you.
They went to high school
with you.
On her wall in the FaceTime background,
a suspect flag designed to scare you.
On his truck, a bumper sticker
for someone who hates you.
In the conversation you left, stifled laughter
about some joke aimed at those like you.
But they’re so damned nice
to you.
She now and then has lunch
with you.
He had pizza one day and held a slice out
to you.
You know why they role play cordiality
to you.
You don’t like to think about how it plays
you.
You try not to think about how they’re shrinking
you.
They prefer that smaller, quieter, less present
you.
It makes it easier to demand more and expect less
of you.
One day they’re going to look at
you
and see
you
and scratch their heads and reimagine
you.
Beware that day when they finally see
you
because on that day — yes — what could happen to
you:
you being you at full height and strength; could be curtains
for you
or them, or they’ll change and see you
for you;
not an excuse not
to be you —
if anything, it’s a bell ringing
for you,
an alarm
for you:
they are who they are no matter how nice and you
are you.
Learn them for who they are
and then do you,
do you, do
you.
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