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When I was Racist

When I was young And felt a little glum My Mum would cheer me With a plum. I began to eat them daily, Demolishing entire punnets With aplomb. How I loved those big, fat, Red-purple fruit bombs Juicing between my lips, Never failing to elicit A contented ‘Yum!’ But one night after Dinner my Mum Offered me a yellow one. I turned my head And mouthed disgust At the pale, pus-like Imitation of my habitual Fruity dream feast. This fruit was diseased. I refused to feed. I snubbed that sickly grub. My mother paused, Then held her breath, Turning black Like an overripe plum. “You know what your problem is,” She cried. “You’re racist!” Then she took the entire Crate of plums and pelted Me until I was welted With plum coloured bruises. “You see, discoloured plums Still have their uses!” Now I am grown up And Minister for Equal Opportunities. On a celebrity reality TV show They hooked me up To a lie detector machine And asked me if I had Ever been racist. I blushed (like a plum).

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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Date: 6/10/2014 12:49:00 PM
Ha ha ha scintillating piece u hav here! Did u mean a peach, or do u get yelow plums there? Enjoyd dis frm top to toe. So nice to read another of yor poem.
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Date: 5/24/2014 9:27:00 PM
Very witty write - love it!
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Alex Frankel
Date: 5/25/2014 3:35:00 AM
Hi Pandita, thanks, glad you liked it! cheers Alex
Date: 5/24/2014 1:33:00 PM
That was too funny this write made my day. Keep it up... Yours truly, Danny
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Alex Frankel
Date: 5/25/2014 3:33:00 AM
hi Danny, cheers for the nice comment!
Date: 5/24/2014 11:59:00 AM
HILARIOUS! Superb write Alex had me giggling. hugs Jan xxx
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Alex Frankel
Date: 5/25/2014 3:33:00 AM
thanks Jan!