chocolate cake and cardboard boxes.

What separates the man opening up his cardboard boxes
to make his bed on the street corner from me?
Is it the white skin?
Is it the silver earrings, curled hair, and pink lips?
Is it the money in my wallet?
What makes it so that I am blessed enough
to sit in a cushioned chair,
staring at three stories of gold-encrusted walls,
listening to opera singers,
while he is digging through yesterdays garbage?
What gave me the blessing of eating chocolate cake at the national hotel,
while his stomach is left aching?
Why do I get to come back to a warm bed?
Why do I get to wear new clothes?
Why do I get a fresh cup of coffee every morning?
In a different world, I could have been him.
I could have been alone, poor, scared, homeless.
But, I'm not.
Tomorrow, I'll wake up in the same warm bed,
put on the same new clothes, and drink another hot cup of coffee.
And he won't.

If I ever forget how blessed I am, slap me.

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