Why Don't You Just Learn English?

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his voice cut through
the clink of carts, the check-out beeps,
his question an assault:

You're holding up the line.
You want our stuff, you speak our way.
Confused? That's not my fault.

Her reply, too soft to hear:

My language is my super-power,
the magic cloak of my mother
to shield my children,
strengthen their father,
fly them distant places,
times long gone;

English just my secret identity,
mild-mannered, awkward, shy.

Aloud, she may have murmured Pardon.

Image by Susan Rouse.
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In the moment described in the poem, I froze. Head down, I never even saw the ones involved. Ever since, I've wished I'd intervened like Superman or Jesus. The poem took shape only after I took myself out and let the two be heroes of their own encounter.

I draw upon some first-hand knowledge. When I lived some weeks in Francophone countries, I suffered the devaluation of my facility with English -- my super-power. - WSS