Poem: Brünnhilde and the Ring of Nerds

Brünnhilde and the Ring of Nerds

Encouraged by her ready smile,

large bosom and mounting

blood-alcohol level, the young nerds of

Effie’s form a ring around Cecily.

(You are so beautiful!)

She is a Rubik’s cube, a bank vault.

Make the right moves, guess the

right numbers and you’re in.

(Yeah, I bet you do!)

But Cecily’s lameness radar is

not hampered by cocktails.

She slices the innuendo like

Brünnhilde through packing peanuts.

(Haha! Blow harder!)

I am at a high school party with

Sue Miller and her dozen suitors.

The ring begins to form.

When it reaches seven, I opt out.

At the time, it felt like cowardice.

Now, it looks like wisdom.

Because sometimes the only way to

distinguish yourself is to leave.

This will not get you laid.

But it will save you time,

energy and embarrassment.

Because Sue has already made up her mind.

Sometime during the party,

she will give some lucky boy a look,

and he will be halfway there.

If you are operating without that look,

you are shooting in the dark.

If you’re standing in a ring,

you’re shooting each other.

Thirty years later, I was sitting in a

karaoke bar when Cecily’s mother

walked in and gave me that look.

That’s why I’m here at three in the

morning, a weary Wotan,

waiting for the nerds to fall like

ducks in a gallery,

so I can drive Brünnhilde

home and get some sleep.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo 
Photo by MJV