My family has a specific smell

Smoky

Cigarette gun dip

Meaty

Turkey ribs chicken 

Planty

Tomatoes  chiggers honeysuckles 

My family has a specific look

Kind

Bright blue eyes

Big

Height width depth

Ruff

Callused from age work hard living

My family has a specific sound

Smooth

The way the words run into each other 

Loud

The bickering layered in the wind

Raspy

Voices warn from hollering over truck engines

Country

The twang encapsulating every word

My family has a specific dress

Work boots are only ever replaced with crocs

Ball shorts to the knee are for casual events 

Jeans are for dressing up

A plain shirt is never retired

Even after cigarette burns and oil stains

A trucker hat goes with everything

I’m not like the rest of my family

I don’t smell of crisp smoke or fresh meat

The air of nature doesn’t cling to my skin after hours of being in the garden or a night of hunting

I don’t have blue eyes

Mine are dark, black

My voice is broken by a stammer

And my dialect is refined from years of speech so my accent is homeless

I’ve never owned a pair of boots

my shorts barely cover my ass

And cigarette smoke makes me gag

I’m not like the rest of my family

It’s apparent when we’re around

The way I smell, look, sound, act

I’m the outsider

In a family of them