Absurdity, A Love Song
Eggs and bacon
and tons of food,
banks and million-dollar mansions
and grown men’s model jets?
Peanut butter and jelly
and a grown man throwing a tantrum because his holiday village train
set won’t work right before he shows us his guest cottage—that we aren’t staying in.
Pork and beans
and smiling for a man with a 27-gun armory behind a rotating bookshelf,
in the same home where he will serve fajitas and offer us a crème brûlée cake from Costco.
Greens and cornbread
and I
have danced too long.
Turns out I’ve been bouncing
to a beat I didn’t know was playing.
Then he pushed the train down the track with a broom.
Quarter Zip
Proximity is for the Batman, not the Superman.
Sand Hill Road = Gotham.
i am not the Sequoia partner on CNBC at 10:30 Eastern.
But his hair, the quarter zip sweater, the summer at McKinsey…
“You can’t fly? No worries—you’re one of us. Please, have a latte and take…everything.”
the proximal rule
while the talent echoes
and fiddles with a logo’d pen
from the career fair
Proximity ≠ talent
i am from Krypton
and my teeth are filled with its stones.
John Hunter is an emerging poet from the San Francisco Bay Area. He came to poetry after careers in oncology research and elite sport. His work examines the cost of excellence in extractive institutions and interrogates the myth of meritocracy.
The Marbled Sigh 