Lizzie Buehler for the Nassau Weekly
Lizzie Buehler for the Nassau Weekly

Bro,

Your profile, silhouetted
By dancefloor lights,
Never looked so bold, so stoic,
So beautiful—
objectively, of course.

But what lies behind
Those porcelain eyes?
I cannot read them.
What are you thinking?

So I turn to Kyle—and chant
Chug, chug, chug…
As the frothy nectar drips
Onto his bear chest,
And I find myself hoping
that you glance my way.

Though Kyle is the one
With whom I now play pong,
You will always be the one I love.

Wait—no, I—I didn’t mean that.
I meant “respect.”
Because I respect you.

No homo, Carson

 

Bro,

Well, now,
if little by little you stop respecting me
I shall stop respecting you little by little.

I think a Mexican dude or something said that, but now

I’ll stop letting you win at chesties
So you can impress the Theta you were trying to wheel

I’ll stop holding you tightly
After bro hugs
For an extra second

Letting your touch linger on my body
And mine on yours
Like the hoody I let you borrow
When you threw up on your shirt
And I promised not to send you to McCosh, so

You slept on my futon.

Now, should I send you to McCosh
To recuperate
Our fading friendship?

No homo, Ben

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