Good People
A poem
Did you use chopsticks at that posh sushi joint
where you made fun of the waiter’s L’s and R’s and eyes?
Did you break apart the cookie and read your white fortune,
crumbs flying from your lips
as you laughed about the Kung Flu?
Did you gripe about jobs disappearing?
The ones you’d never want
because you’ve worked too hard
for your degree
to slum in a field next to rapists and murderers
(and some, of course, good people).
Did you chant about a wall
while your bloated belly
struggled to digest Taco Bell?
Did you joke about the Jews
taking over Hollywood and healthcare
as you looked down your smooth nose
at the bagel and cream cheese on your plate?
Did you cite free speech when the young neo-nazis marched because
there were good people on both sides?
Did you use permanent ink
when you wrote the name and number of that slut
on the bathroom wall?
(just locker room talk)
Or did you use the cheap pen
you got at the rally,
the one where they decided that women
were made to carry babies in their bellies
not monthly pill packs in their purses?
Did you fault a man for kneeling
and then fault him for shouting?
For marching?
For breathing?
Was he disrespecting the flag you revere?
The one slathered all over
your beer koozies and bikinis?
Did you miss the good old days
when he knew his place?
And you —
did you watch as
these things happened?
We all did
But some of us, I’m sure are
good people.
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