Sport 42: 2014
My father taught me to enter the room like a wrestler,
get your hand on top, go for the crush.
He had high hopes for my managerial career where I am impressive,
twisting hands with my wire wrists.
My mother taught me ikebana,
creating simple lines for invisible guests.
She prayed daily for my redemption;
I called to god through smooth men.
My brother taught me the periodic table,
he was Encyclopaedia Britannica on a bike,
neatly arranging trains because people were so untidy.
I can’t teach you anything manly that isn’t already in song.