Perception

By Carl Wade Thompson

People don’t see me;

skin color—the first thing.

That’s what they notice,

probably an Arab;

always an Arab.

I’m Pakistani—Middle East,

that’s what they always think,

central Asia is not a place—

we’re all ragheads.

When I say I’m Muslim,

the line is drawn.

See it in their eyes,

an invisible wall falls,

a boundary they won’t cross.

I am no longer human,

I’m the Other.

Fanatic, zealot, fundamentalist—

code words for terrorist.

They many not say it,

even admit it in their minds.

But it’s there, all the same,

an elephant in the room,

just waiting for me to scream

“Jihadh!” and go on a killing spree.

 

I am just like you;

Really, I am normal.

I may pray five times a day,

but I’m not dead.

I’m just like you,

except a little different.

I go out, I do things,

I don’t pray all day and night.

I like the Avengers,

who doesn’t?

I like sports, hang out with friends,

go to parties, travel, everything.

I even like hamburgers; really

So please, see me;

see the real me.

I may be a Muslim,

but I’m more than that.

I’m a person who has a life.

 

Carl Wade Thompson is a poet and the graduate writing tutor at Texas Wesleyan University. His work has appeared in The Mayo Review, The Concho River Review, Anak Sastra, Cenizo, GFT Press, The Eunoia Review, The Galway Review, The Blue Collar Review, Elegant Rage, and Labor: Studies in Working-Class History of the Americas.