I hated Tamaqua
and the early morning light in sleepy eyes
the leftover drunks wandering around the gazebo
the food stamp fat ass roast beef feasts at 8 am
I hated that girl with the half pink hair and glasses
who collected bootleg DVDs
and the happy part of her boredom

the old racists and their cheap real estate in net hats and motor oil
looking like wrinkled back pocket receipts or an uncashed check
I hated the football team and the homecoming parades
and the chubby under 21 dollar store hos
gawking into their ugly thrift store strollers

I hated the 50’s motif of the high school stadium
and the roads leading into town
the air that tasted like stones,
the freakin mini waterfall pissing into the creek by the burger king
the Richie Cunningham “how do ya do?” horsecrap
adopted by the drug dealers and thieves

I hated the smell of your clothes and the taste of failure,
the cheap gold earring tramps huddled around the eight balls,
the flip flop boys in pastel polo shirts
stubbing their toes on Dave Matthews facial hair,
the rusty carts blowing in the parking lots of the discount supermarket,
the rotting trees and the dead leaves that freaked out in gusts
through the grey concrete curbs and sewer grate gravel

I used to sit in my room and play old 1930’s black gospel
that felt like ghosts pacing, beating on their tombs
sounding like buildings crumbling and fire,
like spirits preparing for some great revival

Forum Comments:I hated Tamaqua
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Daniel J. Flore III's poems have appeared in many publications. His first poetry collection, Lapping Water, is from GenZ Publishing.

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