Mrs. Ennyculler

She was a ‘polite‘ racist,

you know what I’m talkin’ about?

Fear and hatred so deep seeded that they had become all but part of her DNA.

Fear and hatred so assimilated into the very strain of her conscience that

every

act

of kindness toward

any

other

than her ‘own

had become a sickeningly,

gratifying,

delve

into the very gut

of self righteousness.

Her eyes,

now a set of two-way mirrors—

set against her,

Exposed to us a mangled kind,

while hiding from her an equally,

tangled

mind

—yet,

equal

nonetheless.

Her smile teetered from genuine

to a genuinely nervous grin as if to say—with perfect time,

‘A greeting is acceptable, but any further conversation

well, that just crosses the line.’

Oh, Mrs., Mrs.

When will you see?

When will the burs be brushed from your tree?

When will my Adam be wed to your Eve?

Old Mrs. Ennyculler, when will you see?

You are no different

from me.

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About robin

...writer, lover, fellow-man; divinely adrift in a sea of inarguable genius and intellectual nuisance. Read@ robinejohnson.wordpress.com Like@ facebook.com/storiesbyrobin Follow@ twitter.com/storiesbyrobin and as always, peace, love, and think! View all posts by robin

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