He Could

he could say
I love the light in your eyes,
the fire that can't be extinguished,
could tell his children and wife,

this too will pass,

I’ll bring you to me,
that the sun will hide tonight

and return tomorrow.

he could touch
the tears pleading to be kissed as he left,
dropping upon her poverty-ragged cloth desperately reaching,
feet so bare so hard-blistered,
weathered with protection,
her only protection,
so resistant that storms of innocent love
might never wash the miles of learned hate away.

he could be a father today,
a surrogate mother tonight,
a caregiver tomorrow,
even the scorpion stinging the threats
of insanity waiting at the border,
or predator deterrents buried in the sand,
waiting,
always ready,
always willing to strike.

he could be
a poster man for bravery,
a saint in faith-armored vestments,
one who knows everyone thinks they're right,
and never admits they're wrong,

he could…

but he’s a Honduran cab driver

who didn’t have enough money to gas his cab.

he is an asylum seeker,

one who can’t afford to bring his family,
one who dreams as if he'll live forever,
and walks the walk accepting he could die today.

his are the tears of so many

desperate to live as humans,

not sacrificial pawns for dictator-consumption-pleasure.

“Mr. Trump, treat our border with compassion,

not hate.”