This one's family, down to his
livestock, are most delightful creatures all,
But he wants to monopolize me, and he
drives me up a wall.
This one's as interesting a person as
I've in my whole life met;
He is inviting and engaging,
understated, kind, and yet
I dread possibilities of moments in
which I might see his face.
Am I projecting onto people unconscious
thoughts about the place?
'Cause this one? Him I ought to like,
or feel guilty if I don't.
This one I really want to like, and
befriend, too, but I won't.
This one I really do like–even as
he's bugging me.
It seems I'm programmed with some bug
up top, above where I can see.
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