The Fonzie-Swans at Coole.

My creative writing teacher would say,

‘You fool, I said pellucid not lucid!’

Professor Manifesto, hands on hips,

said, ‘You should write more about my travels.’

I started writing observationals:

a stiff moon in the church’s parking lot,

Professor Manifesto yells, ‘You suck,

stiff moon!,’ however manifesto-y.

Those are some sexy apostles, that’s true.

But those were also some hot-assed Pharisees.

When will it get so warm I won’t want to drink

a venti non-fat pumpkin-spiced latté?

I love you, Professor Manifesto!

You told me I’d regret the day I said,

‘Better a smudge of Doritos dust

than a week in the Bodleian with you.’