Inward-flowing trigonometrists burgle
fine-toothed angle pushers on
the twentieth day of their self-imposed
exile from the land of mathematics.

Nowhere near the crime is there
a scrap of linen, the trademark of the
now oft-emulated original perpetrators.
The copycats don’t seem to mind
perpetuating the need for a police state,
it’s likely that their cheetah-spritzing
skills never allowed them to make it
to the big time, so they fell back on math
and edgy felonies to fill their days.

When will these damn academics learn
that intellectual proficiency negates
the need for flashy feats of daring?
Perhaps the observation of the next
full solar eclipse will convince some
wayward eggheads to stick to the sciences.
For God’s sake, let’s hope that’s the case.


Author: Aidan Badinger I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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