Why I Don’t Call Myself a Social Darwinist Anymore

By: Alfonso Colasuonno

Go ahead and say it
I’ve ran it through and through my head before
It’s my personal recurring algorithm
My mantra
Say it like you were some Indian immigrant
In a Bogosian play
In a Linklater film
You throw it all away
You just throw it all away

The nineteen-year-old told me in her dorm room
That I have a gift for self-mythologizing
Far be it from me to play the part of the conquering hero
Imagine Holden Caulfield at 30
They are all phonies
That’s not just teen angst
It only hurts to admit it
When you look in the mirror
See the gray dotting your coarse curls
See the lies you espouse to your family
The few people who still believe in your promise
Goddamn it
Top schools at thirteen
And here at thirty
I’m a bony, bespectacled Darko Milicic
And the class ring I still wear won’t save me from my defeat
Won’t save me from the Gauloises I smoke
When I want to pretend that I have class
Won’t save me from the nights at the bars
That recurring algorithm
Stumbling home drunk
Alone
Won’t save me from the countless promises
And the I’m straightening up
And the I’ll be a good person
And the I’ll behave
And the I’ll get my head right
And the I won’t be Darko no mo’

If you think a man can turn things around here
Over at this shithole stop off I-80
You’ve made some wrong turns, boy
And the only startup you’ll ever found
Regardless of if the roughnecks on the basketball courts call you Bill Gates
Is if you can make an app about how to fuck your life up beyond repair
I’m sure you can make some money in that
This shithole stop off I-80
This wrong turn that you landed in
Is just begging for you to quit
Just begging for you to accept your fate
Just begging you to realize that yes
Some number two draft picks
Average 10 points per game at their best
And most of their seasons are spent on the bench
And they usually leave the game by 30 to go off to Europe
And all the funny stunts you wanted to pull
Ripping off a suit
And showing that S on your chest
Just makes us laugh harder
But it’s all right
There’s comfort in Gauloises
There’s comfort in Johnny Walker
And you speak so eloquently
And your coat really is tasteful
And you can converse about All Things Considered
And I bet you really do have all the contacts in the world
Just ready to help you get your writing out there
Or your screenplay
Or get you some acting gigs
Or help you launch your small business
Or your startup
Get you a job, a roof, a meal
You have the world’s largest unused Rolodex
You’re quite the character
And always entertaining company for a beer
Come back to your home
Not the place of your birth
That was a mistake, too
Just like the admissions counselors
Come back to that shithole stop off I-80
Northwest Central Pennsylvania would be good for you, sonOut here, the dreams are within reach
Twelve dollars an hour
And a piece of ass that allows you to put it in her mouth
An insurance plan that covers contraception
That doesn’t sound so bad, son, does it?
10 points per game looks pretty good out here
On the Euroleague that is this shithole stop off I-80
Thirty isn’t too old to come out of retirement
And play second string
In some hotbed of talent
Some metaphorical Belgian basketball league
It’s good for you, son
Take that ring off
The talent scouts make mistakes sometimes
But the rec leagues are always easily impressed.