The Other Foot

What if the angry mob next turned its gaze upon you? What if your countenance should fall in disfavor? What if you were to become the hunted instead of the hunter?

What if that which you considered your birthright tomorrow was not? What if those you counted upon for allegiance suddenly, and without seeming cause, abandoned you? 

What then? What bewildered cry would emanate from within the bowels of your being? What anguished voice would plead for mercy? What beleaguered soul would beg for compassion?

What if the next sentence you heard, you were the enemy? What if there was no reason that placated or withered  the disgust for your very existence? What if there were no answers and, worse, no questions being asked? 

For you with your righteous indignation, your immoral certainties, your felonious assaults, your lines drawn in the sand, your justifications, what if when you opened your eyes in the morning it had all vanished?

What if the sun refused to shine, your rivers all ran dry? What if every door was shut, every avenue of escape sealed off? What if there was nothing for you but darkness?

What if you were suddenly and forever more the immigrant, the unwanted, the tainted, damaged goods? What if nothing had changed overnight except everything you knew? What if the shoe had changed its allegiance?

What then?