I’m Not That Kind of Girl

I’m a put a marshmallow on a stick
put it in the fire
and burn it till’ it flakes
kind of girl.

I don’t drink kur aka kurek soup
prude and proper
and greet my huge polish family
with Czesc dobry weiczor.

I’d rather sit around the campfire
barbecue, drink soda, and sing
a campfire song
in the black of night.

I don’t want to look out my window
and see Majdanek concentration camp
where my great grandfather lived.
No, I’m not that kind of girl.

Still when my father tells his stories
and I pull the marshmallows
from the fire,
ablaze in the night sky,
I just want to go home.

Maybe I am that kind of girl.

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