The problem was seventies wrestling,
You tell me to wait, this is your new theory,
I theorize it was just an excuse
To see bad sideburns get sweaty in tights,
Not to knock your heterosexuality,
But you always link dialectics right back
To the constructive stretch and pull of leotards.
You refuse to deal with my sudden findings
They have failed your peer review,
Something about citations shuts me up,
You know my weakness, my academic fault,
I never know how to make it all fit
Within the lines or placed underneath,
While I forget to alphabetize any authors.
I let you appoint yourself the editor in chief,
If you let me remain the banker
For our little game we have rendered well
Into a secular Haggadah of drinking,
Taking shots of vodka when you march men
In plastic formation across the Ukraine,
While I drink tequila for taking Central America.
~ Ben Nardolilli: Arlington, Virginia | The Brooklyner
