Four men in restaurant

The first man had a wife, Helped him with dressing and strife. Kept his sweets near, Made sure he never looked over here. The second man and his wife, In baggy ill-fitting clothes. Took the leftovers home under his clothes, Squirreling condiments away for another day. The third man had no wife, Just a young thing he was after. Full of chatter, To impress the young thing, not that it mattered. The fourth man cleared the tables, Moving silently when able. Shifting around, Bent over and facing the ground. The men one, two, and three, Each were white never in fright. Had a place you see, In a country that was free. The fourth man was brown, With dark black hair. Worn hands, From work everywhere. When police cars went by, The fourth man kept a watchful eye. When they went past, He breathed a sigh of relief. Of the four, I must say. I'm prouder of him, Then my country today! He is one among many holding tight, To his dream of a life. Working long hours at jobs that strain, Not jobs that many would strain to obtain. Yet of the four, He was the only one at the door. Watching fearfully at work, As the police car went by.