« J'suis pas raciste, mais...»  ("I'm not a racist, but...") ... never starts a conversation on the right foot... there are young tenants in my building, and this summer, they took to camping out on chairs right in front of my patio for their little get-togethers... these thoughts are in reference to one of their conversations I very unfortunately had to overhear as they were sitting in front of my face... the new neighbor in question is truly pleasant, so nothing of their gripes added up to me... 

Misplaced righteousness, as a disguise for racism,

Doesn't it take your breath away?  It does mine.

You know when you're thrust into overhearing

Some shocking arguments, and you can't for the

Life of you comprehend them, 'cause reason's

Clearly become a mere concept at this point... ?

And, then, you listen further - only 'cause

You're stuck in the same space as them - and the

Basis for their complaints is so questionable:

You know without a single doubt that if a

Quebecker approached them in the manner

They're getting so hot about, they wouldn't have

For a second any trouble with it.  But this large,

Vibrantly joyous, and friendly new neighbor, with a

Dark skin as dark can be, an accent from a sunny

Island from another land, is rubbing them the

Wrong way?  His manner is rude and impolite,

They scoff, insulted.  And a brewing intensity carried

On for quite a while. And with each passing minute, I'm

Thinking to myself:  Really?  Do they hear themselves? 

How utterly mind-boggling to be able to so easily distort

Reality, and lull their senses into missing the obvious source

For this less than appealing discourse they're engaged in…