by Andrew J. Müller

I met a man the other day
Who hated anyone who was black
He hated them for no reason
Except the whiteness that they lack
No other excuse was given
For the hate that was in him
Just an irrational idea about protection
For his precious white skin.

Membership of the Klan of Knights
Hung upon his wall
With his white cloak and hood
Hung up inside his hall
And the Imperial Wizzard's face
Looked down from a gilt-edged picture frame
He said "You can't trust them boy
Them niggers is all the same".

The righteous fury of this man
Whose grip was strong as steel
Who travelled far across foreign lands
To murder and to kill
To terrorise the fearful
To contaminate the pure
To infect us all with his disease
For which death is the only cure.

I came once upon an old ghost town
In the desert sands of Texas
Wherein there was a faded sign
Saying "Lest they all forget us"
There is a cross upon the hill
Burning in the sun
There is a memory within us all
Which tells us what was done.

This poem appears alongside many others by Andrew in BeWrite Books's "Shaken and Stirred: Poetry from the Far Corners" published in 2002.

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