10 cents, 12 cents: inequality in my life

(I can’t go back to Madrid now, even though I want to.)

If this was my community, I would know through the HOA that a senior citizens facility is being built across the street, but since our board officers are the only ones invited to the yearly meeting, I don’t have a voice in the lowest form of government in the USA.

If this was my country, I would be able to choose the leader of the land through my cellphone, just like I pay a bill through my bank while walking in the park and receive an email receipt.

If this was my body, I would be able to go to any doctor and get help for what ails me, whether I have health care or not, and depend on the principles behind the Hippocratic Oath and the bankruptcy laws if I couldn’t pay the bill.

If this was my brain, I would be able to make educated sense of the multiple lynchings I see on TV and hate I face daily from people who should be minding their own business instead of trying to tell me how to act.

If I were a human being who mattered, I would be able to receive 100 pennies for my work instead of the 10 cents on the dollar given me compared to what whites receive. I would be able to buy a house in a good neighbor, a house made of bricks, not trailer-like aluminum siding in a red-lined district where I would get a $3k discount on my mortgage but be denied a loan to make repairs latter.

If I were a global citizen, I would be able to fly to Timbuktu, Rio, Madrid, or Hong Kong without fearing I would not be able to come back home due to a health pandemic.

Since none of these things are true, I’m living in limbo, tied to a religion that deems the heavenly white father a God ruling over creation. 

If.