Tin Foil Man

Even from afar, across the bar,
I can see the condescension
In your first impression;
In your surface assessment
Of someone in my profession.
I wasn’t aware; Am I supposed to care
What you think?
What I think?
Is that you stink
Of imagined superiority,
Mr. Born of the Majority.
Does a suit make a man?
Can it stand,
Tall and alone,
If you did not call it home?

You wear it like armor.
Safe from harm or,
The dirt of physical labor.
I bet the thought fills you with terror.
Pinstripes don’t strip you of error,
Nor do they elevate you above me.
You act so entitled, so cunning,
Is there anything you wouldn’t do for money?
Next time you go to call me ‘honey’
Or ‘sweetheart’ Or ‘dear’
Listen here – You don’t see me.
But I’ve seen you.

And the way you mistreat
Those that bring you your food.
Server does not equal slave;
Does not give you the right to behave
Like an ill mannered asshole.

And the way you mistreat
Those that look to you for guidance.
The poor interns or low men on the totem pole,
Victims of the circumstance,
Of working under you.

You can judge a man’s integrity,
Based on his conduct, his words, his attitude
Toward those he considers below him.
You – Arrogant and manipulatively glib.
You – Have the character of tin.
Flimsy and thin.
And that suit you have pressed,
The pride you feel from how you are dressed,
Is nothing but shiny decoration veiling
Rotten leftovers.

–Jessie Gutierrez