There will never be a n—-r SAE!
There will never be a n—-r SAE!
You can hang ‘em from a tree, but they’ll never sign with me!
There will never be a n—-r SAE!

—Trad., arr. the bros of the University of Oklahoma chapter of the ΣΑΕ fraternity

You really think we’re different, all decked out
in Pilgrim chic, hopping on a boat
to shores conveniently bereft of locals
(except perhaps for Squanto, bearing corn)?
We’re always told we’re special—a trust-fund kid
to everyone who’s from another place
without a frat house or an Applebee’s.

Patriotism’s just a thing you yell
to diss the other team, a shirt you wear
on Saturdays, the way you drink your beer
and slur your words, the coy, come-hither look
you’d swear that Tri-Delt threw you as her face,
framed by red-gold locks, turned slightly green.

The lessons that you learned from history
are limited to chants and shibboleths—
an alphabet you never write, a code
you rarely bother keeping, or a song
you belt out with the bros. It gets you hard
and just might get your date wet. Women love
a man who, if not tough, can talk that way.

You’ll be okay when it comes crashing down,
at least a little while; the trust fund means
they’ll never hear your non-apology
as you wait out your long, suburban days
nursing non-ambitions as your stock
goes up, then down, like a hanged man’s head.