Nickel, Dime or Dollar ( A #poem for Black History Month) What I am going to talk about right now May be very controversial for some None the less The topic of today’s discussion is The homeless minority You see I was on the train a week ago Coming home from work Tired Not looking forward to the night shift I have to come back to after working a day shift Bag heavy with books And the weight of my worries It sitting on the seat next to me Like the person it was Blasting away my thoughts With metal no doubt My usual demeanor When this white woman Without asking Proceeded to move my bag Now Before saying what I wanted to really I spoke with my gestures and my facial expression instead Looked at her like so many have looked at me As if to be disgusted by the colour of my skin Or my weight Grabbed my bag as if to say her intent was to steal it And said to her Instead “I’m sorry did you want this seat?” “Yes,” She said She sad there beside me Perched at the edge Because It was not like the both of us could fit She is not thin after all But in my mind With all the profanities of “how rude and manner less, she could have just ASKED!” I also said she’s tired And in my Jamaican tone said “She can katch” And as I usually do When my mind spirals out of control I observe Observe for the rest of the ride on the train On the bus For the next day And the next days to come Because these small insignificant moments to some Becomes scorched in my memory As if with heat from the sun I observe the interactions of others On my next ride on the train and the bus So a week later It’s not me It’s an elderly black man On the bus Who asks the white man Who is tired With a suitcase In front of an empty seat To “excuse me please” I would like to sit there The white man sits there Without music And ignores him Again the black man says “Excuse me can I sit down” And the white man continues to Act As if he cannot hear The black man says “sir can you move your bag” And the white man says “Why it’s not like you can fit there” The black man said “I’ll try” and took the seat anyway The white man sat there and muttered many profanities and slanders under his breath That even I who stood near the door Could hear He could not see the black man was tired And literally Just wanted to “katch” But instead worried about the seat in front of which he had His suitcase That sat comfortably on the wheels It came with That when he got off He would not have to lift But drag Was not taking So what does this have to do with homeless minority people? So you see There are many homeless people in the city of Toronto Much of them Visibly white There are some Minorities But at first glance most are visibly white And when I see A minority begging for change I can hear The rejection And on top of it humiliation Of “why does he just not get a job?” Or “sorry can’t help you” Or “he’s scary..crazy.. dirty” and the like. This in particular to a well known black homeless man I’ve seen this man many times over For many years in the subway and on the inner city streets But only ever once Heard him scream at a person using profanity For not sparing change And that person just happened to be my white friend To whom this black homeless man in frustration called a “Nigger” So taken aback, we laughed it off when he was gone And then to think about the meaning of this word For some like myself who say that this word In it’s truest form means “ignorance” To say it in this context, is not a lie Human beings are ignorant little shits And when I think back I have been ignorant Ignoring all the things that have been said to me by a lot of homeless whites Calling me out of my name When not providing change Not providing them with means to feed addiction And just to be clear In my comparison trip in travel to the states It is rare that in Canada That people are homeless completely by circumstance In the states you find many who have liquidated their funds in medical bills to sort the illness The system has helped provide. There, if you can’t pay and you don’t have insurance you’re in for a wild ride for an infected wound you sustained at work. Get that 401K and pay that 500+ a month for the little they will cover. In Canada this is not really the case Yes there are those that have severe, treatment resistant mental illness Or have committed so much crime that they can no longer attain anything to sustain themselves But many, even my brothers have addictions And even my brothers with addiction I deny Why? Many of my brothers and sisters with children living in poverty receive OW And if you don’t know the term it’s Ontario Works And for those of you who prefer the more derogatory word… Welfare Many white people I know and most people who don’t understand how that system works and that should they lose their job someday may be in need of this system. Some of these white people on the street refuse to receive OW And when you ask why they say “I’m not about getting money from the man” and “I refuse to take tax payers money.” And in addition refuse to comply with the limitations and restrictions put in place on how this money is spent In turn They maintain the feeling of superiority that “no one is giving me anything” And maintain the “right” to call me out of my name as I walk by their sign that says “I’m hungry” when they turn down my offer to actually buy them food. Well I’ve got news for you, there is no shame in an honest living, I have to make one There is no shame in honest giving at that point I deny none I don’t have a choice, I pay taxes too and who knows someday I may be on the receiving end Not working but still getting paid on OW when I lose my job or acquire a disability from my job Either fighting with the public or lifting the dead onto a sliding bed in the fridge I have people at home to take care of sir You don’t want to take money from the man or from taxpayer dollars? But why? Every two weeks there is a whole wad of my money that I don’t have the chance to miss or go home with But you’d rather the little I have in my pocket, I do get to keep that would short change my families dinner instead © Marchristen, 2015.