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Inimical

“There is no act, large or small, fine or mean, which springs from any motive but one —
  the necessity of appeasing and contenting one’s spirit”
    ~ Mark Twain, What is Man, chapter II (1906 ed. p. 26)

In Pennsylvania
No one’s a fan before a friend
In Pennsylvania
Not so many morons
In Pennsylvania
We know how to talk
In Pennsylvania
No pecking order
In Pennsylvania
We have the most fragrant forests
In Pennsylvania
We’ve got the tastiest water
In Pennsylvania
Nobody’s so cold
In Pennsylvania
I’m not alone
Or I wouldn’t be
If I was there
How should I know
Pennsylvania
Exists only in my mind
Everyone there dead to me
Hundreds of miles away
Might as well mean dead
Then I’m taken there
To my grandma’s funeral
So far as I can tell
Everyone who left such a paradise
On purpose
Is insincere
So the uncle
Weeping ostentatiously over the body
Is surely a fraud
When he leaves I take his place
Aping him
Emitting a boisterous “WAAH”
And sauntering off
To the chagrin of a once-favorite cousin
Now the walking dead too
Now that I’m back in this place
Allegedly my home
My insubordination
In the form of not joining the crowd
Makes me not so much a threat
To the established hierarchy
With its school bullies and unconcerned teachers
At the top
Not so much a loner
With my own vision my own clubhouse my own
Entire life
Not so much a loser
Nose endlessly buried in a book
To alleviate boredom’s endless tyranny
Not so much anything as
A Pennsylvanian

Thanks always returns

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