You had no
taste.
The clothes
you wore,
embarrassed me.
Though I didn't know you yet.
I was
repulsed by your community collected,
over-washed,
un-ironed,
neutral toned,
once white,
t-shirt, now
filled with pot holes,
dirt streaks
that would never come out,
complemented
by pants that were never jeans, nor khakis, but instead some sort of,
rain-patented,
left-over, fish gutted, baggy cracked, slicker-sucker, never-left.
You seemed
unaware,
that this
was not—
acceptable.
Baring your
muddy, bone-twisted,
calloused
bare feet, that reeked,
and stank of
the earth,
when,
you reached
out your hand and
smiled at
me.
Why would I
not turn away?
What were
you thinking?
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