When I Was Racist
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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). 
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Poem Study Notes:Written in around 2014, this poem grew out of a desire to play on plumb/aplomb. The results were pleasingly random. Just the other day the local Tesco Express was selling yellow plums. They were delicious! Most reality shows these days seem to have become celebrity reality TV shows. Is that because we have reached a sort of saturation point, where every non-celebrity member of the population has appeared in a reality TV show, becoming a celebrity in the process, expanding the celebrity pool, diminishing the non-celebs ... and so now it is easier and cheaper to staff these shows with celebrities ... non-celebrities are becoming an endangered species!
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