Anyone could tell

how much he enjoyed

eating in the diner

Every night in a booth

by himself

but he never seemed alone

He was an elderly African-American

with a head full of white hair

He would joke with the waitresses

about the specials,

then always order a complete dinner

Leaving the diner, one summer evening

when the sun still lit the sky,

satisfied with his meal,

going down the few steps

that led to the sidewalk,

an open convertible

full of white teenagers drove by

One pointed at him and shouted:

“Uncle Ben, Uncle Ben”

While the others laughed

He ignored them

with the silent dignity of a man

who possessed enough years

to know who he wasn’t

and understand exactly what they were