A Little Different

I just wanted a beer.  And with the silver
dollar eyes with sunny-side up pupils
staring through my face at the back of
my skull, he says to me, "You don't belong
here.  You're not like these others."  I catch
visions of stabbings on buses or people
getting their faces eaten off perhaps for
similar breaks with  reality on the part
of the aggressor as I tip the bartender
and head back to my table.  And I
wonder what he saw in me that was different.