The sky we live under they roam
Past down from generation to generation
I was taught to watch, be cautious, but more than that to know
To know how to look in their eyes and spot the difference
Is it their clothing, their uniforms, their jaw structures, is it the cold blueness that pierces through me seeing my blackness.
The difference in how they treat certain ones of us and how they relate to one another. They have their favorites and regard us like pets.
A division. An imaginary line drawn. Right down the middle of colors.
It’s something about the way they hold their lips, you can just see it. In broad day light, they really do hide in their uniforms, but if ever caught at night you can be sure that they transform.
In broad daylight, they eat at our restaurants, talk to our friends, and smile as we serve them food.
It is a sense. I know when they aren’t what they pose to be, I see it in their eyebrow structure and the way they hold their lips.
I can feel it.