in missouri that summer
the boy went crawdadingwith his family. his little brother
got his finger cut by one
and the crawdads hid
in a pink watery shroud.
the girl said
i feel like i'm increasingly
defined by the things i hate
and the boy nods thoughtfully
tearing his beer's label into tiny bits.
hackneyed as it is,
the first time the boy ate
mushrooms he knew what
things were inevitable.
the boy listened to that song
over and over again
until he felt pathetic.
magnetism was never an issue,
although he tried many times.
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