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



of kindness toward



than her ‘own

had become a sickeningly,



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,






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.

About robin

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

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