Speak English?
Are you tired little girl?
I see your rattled clothes and worn through shoes,
I see your dirty finger nails grasping that spoiled teddy bear,
I see your mangled hair hanging over your round little face,
But I can’t see you eyes.
Did someone wipe dirt on your checks?
Speak English?
Show me your eyes, little girl,
Then maybe I can sympathize.
Then maybe I would know that your shirt was not torn on purpose
And your pants were not stained for show
And that you are not someone’s façade for easy cash.
I don’t want to be a victim to your quick little fingers
I don’t want to feel unsafe with you around
Show me your eyes, little girl,
I want to sympathize.
Is that your mother there?
Pushing the tattered baby carriage over the cobblestone road?
With her flower-patterned skirt hung down to her ankles
And a black headscarf draped over her faded sports jacket,
Do her feet ache from walking in those slippers?
Does she feel the heat beating down over Berlin?
Where is your daddy?
Is that your little brother there?
Sleeping so still at this hour, in this heat, in this crowd in your mother’s arms?
Look at me little girl
And tell me your brother is not just an ornament to your mother’s veneer
Or my sympathy will turn to pity, will turn to disgust.
Show me your eyes, little girl.
Speak English?
Are you what they speak of?
Wandering nomads? Pests of society?
Or are you really the victim of neglect, discrimination and crushing poverty?
Please little girl, look me in the eye
And show me who you really are.
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