I’ve learned many things
over the course of my nomadic existence.
the Lances of the world
aren’t at hockey games—they’re in academia.
They write failed poems and make salsa verde
on the weekends. They have best friends named Chris
and spend their free time searching for sales
on machetes. They never
try to squeeze onto a full bus, use the word
“epic” ironically, and call their dogs “Keith”
on account of their perfect teeth.
It’s a light existence
full of takeaway containers and reminiscing
about how good college was.
If it didn’t hurt so much
to stand in one place, I might think about changing
and adopting that 500k a year lifestyle.