The Nots

The Nots

Humanism is not given like a birthday gift.

It is there or it is not.  Thirty-seven million nots

crawl this teeming land of ours, straight laced MGM lovers.

They love the black and white of existence.  Gray is dead.

Humanists are hated by cowboys.  Zane Grey created humanist

bartenders with a shotgun under the bar just in case one of the nots

gets rowdy, blows a gasket and shoots a lousy card dealer.

It was the right thing to do after all, evangelically of course.

Is there another right?  “Mortician man, come measure me a coffin.”