The Fiddleback

poem by Brandi Homan

—Inspired by Michael Earl Craig
I believe in the serial comma, in being early.
I believe in locking the front door, that
Kevin Costner is only good in baseball movies,
and there’s no excuse for dirty fingernails.
The longer the nail beds, the more sensitive
the lover. I believe ATM fees are ridiculous
and quiet people are scarier than nonquiet, but also
more interesting. I believe in saying yes when asked.
In dancing, period. People are fantastic
and should be aggressive in being fantastic
because it gives others permission to be fantastic.
I believe in nepotism when it suits me. In sober
first kisses, longing. I believe in longhand. Living
in the city is hard because one day you will be rude,
which means it’s always someone’s turn to be rude.
I believe in the Green Mill like a church.
That people who run with strollers should not do so
in public, but in some warehouse with everyone else
who runs with strollers. I feel guilty and think they’re crazy.
I believe only lucky people know they’re actually crazy,
in keeping a secret when asked, that visiting the post office
is worse than visiting the DMV, that people who turn twenty-five
should register regardless of whether they’re married
or having babies. Whomever invented panty hose should die
a lingering death. I believe only Christopher Nolan
should direct Batman movies, that hockey is endlessly
entertaining. I believe in key pads over touchscreens,
in potato chips over no potato chips, in pie for breakfast.
I believe in talking to the weird guy at the party
because someday the weird guy at the party is gonna be you.