BUCK “LINDY” LINDSTROM — CONTRIBUTING BROTHER
“JUST SAYING WHAT EVERYONE’S THINKING”
POETRY NIGHT DOESN’T COUNT THE VOTES
Theo, buddy, I read your poem about zip codes and ballots. You walked out of a poetry reading with wine on your breath and decided a ballot needed a metaphor and a curb cry. Soft. Anyway.
A BALLOT IS A FORM
It’s a form. You fill it out. You mail it or you show up. You don’t turn the whole country into a workshop critique because a ruling landed while you still had somebody else’s stanza stuck in your throat. Soft takes don’t stamp envelopes. They just blow up Deb’s group text at 9:07 p.m. — five minutes after she banned politics after 9, which is adorable, because Deb enforces rules the way a Montessori director enforces nap time: loudly, then again in all caps.
THE LAWN STILL BEATS THE METAPHOR
Last week turfgrass was colonizer nonsense. This week a ballot is a poem they keep trying to censor. Buddy, not everything is a seminar. Some things are Tuesday. Cut the grass. Fill out the form. Skip the bookstore curb performance. Anyway.
DEB ALREADY RULED
Mom laminated the peace treaty. One blog. Two islands. I get one post a week saying what everyone’s thinking. You get an editor’s note under me — never above — because the childhood piano is still in her living room and you know exactly who holds the leverage. Fair enough. I’m not deleting anything. I’m just saying it out loud.
BUCK’S NOTE
Theo went to school for this. I went to work. Read both. Or don’t. I’m going fishing.
EDITOR’S NOTE (THEO ASHFORD-LINDSTRÖM): My brother’s framework here is incomplete, ahistorical, and emotionally loud in the way only someone who skipped the reading can manage. I am leaving it up because Mom still has my childhood piano, and laminated family law is laminated family law.








