Oh, please allow me to cling
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To this last vestige of self-defining superiority.
All other "-isms" now out of bounds,
Let me take some small measure of reassurance
In the snug, smug comfort of knowing
That where I am
Or where I am from
Or where I was "erudited"
Makes me better than you.
This is my version
Of the American dream.
Safely perched high in my coastal balcony,
I can peer over the guardrail
Down my nose upon the riff raff below
In "flyover country."
From here on the civilized periphery
I can readily make my escape
If too many of those developmentally challenged breeder sheep
Make things truly insufferable
For those of us who know better than they do
What is best for them.
Am I blue? Am I blue?
Mais bien sur! Better dead than red!
Thank you, "God(s)",
That I was not born a corncob-wiping Midwesterner,
Or worse yet - * SHUDDER! * - a Bible-thumping,
George Jones-listening Southerner,
(Southern California doesn’t count,)
And that I was educated
In the Northeast, the Holy Land of Academe.
Even in my hometown
I can drift off to sleep at night secure in the knowledge
That anybody who is anybody
Lives here on the south side of town,
And if those bus-riding, liquor store-robbing,
Welfare-cheating, scum-sucking trailer trash
Who live north
Steal a car and venture anywhere near
My gated community
Or gentrified-but-tolerant "urban pioneer" zone,
They’ll be pulled over.
I raise a glass
Of organic free-range green tea
In a salute to myself.
I love this country –
At least my own little corner of it.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana. - Groucho Marx