I am a citizen. I was born here. I have a wife. I have a child in school.

The words screamed in Marco’s head, but he could neither speak nor hear, not since the accident so many years ago. He knew something bad was happening when the bay doors swung open and a horde of men in black, faces covered, spilled onto the factory floor. He saw their mouths contorting in anger, eyes flashing like cold flint against rock. His coworkers stood frozen in fear. There was a back exit and Marco thought of that, but the men were standing there, too. Hard like toy soldiers but the guns were real. He knew about real guns. It was why his parents left Colombia. All these men had guns. In the back. In the front. Herding him and his coworkers like cattle. Like cattle that became the cuts of meat they sorted in the factory.

I am a citizen. I was born here. I have a wife. I have a child in school.

A man who looked to be the boss of the other men moved his mouth like he was shouting. He waved a black-clad arm. A knot of men and women, those Marco had worked alongside for twelve-hour shift after twelve-hour shift, aproned and gloved and masked and also with wives and husbands, with children in school, jostled against him. He looked from face to face for someone to tell these men that Marco could not say the words he needed to protect him from what was happening. To protect his friends.

He got pushed and shoved and could only watch while hands were secured behind work-bent backs.

I am a citizen. I was born here. I have a wife. I have a child in school.

Once restrained, the men in black with ICE on their bullet proof vests, as if anyone in here had a gun, aimed them out the door. He saw a slice of the parking lot and the black vans out there, the flashing lights.

He saw Gabriella, a shy pretty girl all of seventeen also born here but grateful to make some money to help support her family, her face wracked with sobs, as they led her away. His chest ached that he couldn’t save her.

He opened his throat, moved his tongue and lips, like if he pushed hard enough, the words would come out, but they didn’t.

A man yanked Marco’s arms behind him, causing pain in his shoulders, and a primal instinct had him attempting to cry out. He turned to look at the man. If he was to go like this, at least he deserved to see who was doing this to him.

The man’s mask had slid down. The man’s skin was the same shade as Marco’s. He would not meet Marco’s eye.

I am a citizen I was born here I have a wife I have a child in school.