Markeith Hogan

Corner Store by Markeith Hogan

Somewhere in the overloaded streets of Japan Lies a corner store, a seven-eleven In walks an exotic, Maybe on vacation Or perhaps lives nearby

But Far from a traditional Japanese man The complete opposite, unforgettably Walking the aisles row by row Tension rises Maybe it was the shade of his skin Perhaps his sheer size,

The counterfeit smile twisted Into an assumption. Because I looked Black, because I looked American To him, I must only speak English, To him, I must only act dangerous.

“Good morning” “How can I help you” his counterfeit smile Maybe it was fear talking Or perhaps instinct

“Will you be buying anything or just look?” disapproval bombs the store

Why am I, A black man on unconventional grounds, stared at like a terrorist? Why do I, a bilingual human feel The unwelcomed tension in friendly territory? Maybe that’s just how it goes Or perhaps that’s how it shouldn’t