Displaying dental work,
they bark at each other’s jokes.
High fives every five minutes.
Tactile approbation abounds.
If this was Vonnegutian satire,
they could be a duprass
among the team players
of their corporate karass.
They live next door, cook out,
and vacation together. They respect
the institution of marriage by not hitting
on each other’s wives—whom they detest
They also detest each other
in a sort of bro-love which mirrors
their own self-loathing. It’s the source
a perpetually adrenalized state of being
that the professional ranks call drive.