In Honor of the Man Who Denied Bill Nye: A Poem by Alexa Doran

Guinness harp trophy
Photo by Alvaro Sanchez on Unsplash

In Honor of the Man Who Denied Bill Nye

Let’s start in the most obvious place: emo.
The cask of crown molding moating

the Wenzke basement, the blush of the root
beer bottle spinning, the eel openness of all

the girls’ necks. I was there behind a hoodie,
loyal to nothing but the next kiss,

sure that touch would always be a game
I could rig - just one more ring around

the rosie and I’d be his. Not yet the ex
of a man from Miami who’d teach me

to be a harp, calloused and curved
under the buck of his finger,

only to leave the second I couldn’t
hit F sharp. Imagine he believed life

was worth mocking, that evolution
was liberal sobbing, not an ancient

ether I and the Science Guy enter
as molecular throbbing. Now winter

is an episode he watches from his trailer
in Texas and I am what he labels: excess.

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