I equivocate. It’s what I do. Faced with a bush, I’ll beat around it. Given a word, I’ll mince it. Press a buck in my hand and I’ll pass it. Ask me a question and I’ll beg it. I quibble and I shuck. Like Texas weather in June, I blow both hot and cold. I eat waffles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and fudge for each and every dessert. I don’t just chew, I eschew. My favorite shoes are flip-flops. My favorite sport is dodge ball. Confront me and I’ll sidestep. Hand me a brick and I’ll stonewall. I hem and haw for the heck of it. Like a cat, I pussyfoot around. I dance the Harlem Shuffle. Raise an issue and I’ll cloud it. Enter a plea and I’ll cop it. Ain’t no talk like double-talk. I equivocate. It’s what I do. A fence is my saddle — I straddle and ride it to nowhere, taking my stand sitting down.