We call him cowboy and now he lives
on the fringe of our campground south.
What put him out there on the edge
was his offensive mouth.
He’d say “nigger this and nigger that”
“rotten government bunch”
till we’d all cringe and passively
excuse ourselves for lunch.
And then one day Mr Paul drove in;
introduced himself all round
and eventually made his friendly way
to cowboy’s camping ground.
Predictably, the foul mouthed buckaroo
in just three minutes flat
began his prejudicial spew:
“nigger this and that.”
“How long have you been a racist?” asked Paul,
cutting to the heart of the matter.
The first to ever really challenge
cowboy”s offensive patter.
Stunned and ashamed, cowboy sputtered
like Adam without his leaf,
embarrassed to be caught red handed,
like some chicken thief.
Sensing that he was no longer welcome
in the company of the civilized
he slithered away to the social wasteland;
looks back with hollow eyes.
A single challenge and he was hurled
to the wastelands mud and damp.
soon the racist of our world
will have no place to camp.
UPDATE: Paul died last week---He donated useful organs to science---and his rig to a friend.
He will be missed and remembered with much fondness.