There are symmetries in nature
created for deeper purposes.
They delight, tease and inflame us
- oh, nature is diabolical.

In hot August I’ll make my departure,
the trembling freshman imposter,
to dance with unknown partners,
in our quests to join the rosters
of future scholars and doctors.

Like Columbus I’ll journey not knowing
exactly where I am going -
and like our brave-foolish captain I’m hoping
that the planned years of furious rowing,
will deliver me to where (I think) I am going.

(These are some Senryu poems about bestfriends.)

My best friends and I
can talk to each other with
****** expressions

Friends can face-slap
insult each other - we know
each other so well.

We can spend a whole
day, at the park, just sitting
on the swings chatting.

Ever looked at your
bestfriend and thought, “We should be
standup comedians.”

There should be clearer signs,
as a relationship starts to break up
- the hiss of steam, a twist of smoke perhaps
or debris distributed across a hot,
cloudless, summer evening sky.
That way, the force of recognition
wouldn’t be so much of a slap.

I had a date! (not a great date but a date.) Could our covid nightmare be ending?

An actual one-on-one date - can you imagine? It was with Noud, a university student (from Holland) I met a couple of weeks ago.

Noud, to be accurate, is a man. He’s 22 and I’m 17 (18 in 3 months). My mom was skeptical but we’ve been around Noud and he seemed pretty nice. It wasn’t like I was infatuated with him, this was a practice date.

I hadn’t been on many one-on-one dates before this (5). I was thinking my 17th year was gonna be a breakout year for dating - but NOT. The over-a-year pandemic lock-down put an end to that.

Anyway, here’s a date tip for older guys: if you’re sincere about something - say “sustainability” - don’t talk about it at dinner - all dinner. In fact, if you’re an intense, serious person - on any subject - take that secret to your grave.

We had dinner - that we picked up and picnicked with. After dinner, things went all WWE. Once we were back in his car, it was as if I became a birthday present he’d been waiting months to open. He pressed in like that was an established, almost impersonal fact.

For someone claiming to be interested in “sustainability”, he moved to the chest massage - skirt-search portion of the festivities pretty quickly - and that didn’t really work for me.

At one point, wrestling in his tiny electric car - which pitched like a rowboat in an angry sea - I felt his tongue in my eyebrows… yeah, my eyebrows.
“What are you DOING?”, I asked, digging my heals into the floorboard to gain enough leverage to push him away and wiping my face with my sleeve.
“You taste good,” he said (hear it with a slight Arnold Schwarzenegger accent).
“I’m NOT a gelato,” I complained, while maintaining a stiff-arm.

Hey, it was a long lock-down year - we’ve all missed dating, we’re all out of practice and maybe some are trying too hard - I get that.

This isn’t a “metoo” story - Noud took “no” for “NO” once I went to my big, “dog command voice,” but sigh Noud will NOT be getting a rematch.

Sometimes you have to get your halo *****.

(Senryu poems about crushes)

That awkward moment
when you're caught day-dreamily
staring at your crush.

You know that tingly
feeling when you start to crush?
It's common sense leaving.

The fantasies that
you indulge about your
crush are scandalous.

You can’t ******
your crush because self-worth
crumbles up close.