You’re Not? I Am?

I heard again the other night the phrase,

“I’m not a racist . . . but.”

I wonder why

they think I will agree with them when they

decide to point their big fat buts at me

as if their breaking wind’s a pleasant smell

I should appreciate; that they’ll convince

Me just how fair and balanced they can be

If only they will say the magic words:

“I’m not a racist.



Just saying that I’m not has made it so.”


It is a most compelling argument

But still, I wonder if the smell would be

The same if I would label garlic rose,

Or said that vinegar was peppermint.

If saying it will make it so, then I

Am rich and handsome, young and very wise.

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