Dear Debate Club, Please Accept This Letter of Resignation

by Robert Rubino

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Life can’t be endless debates

each one definitively decided

by carefully constructed reason,

by luminously latticed logic.

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If only it were all so dignified,

victory breathing clearly,

never smugly, defeat cleanly

wreathed snugly in acceptance.

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But even Great Debates weren’t debates.

Lincoln-Douglas? Not unless

debates-turned-bloody-hates count,

resentments raining reigning sixteen decades on.

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Even historic TV debates weren’t debates.

Nixon-Kennedy? Not unless

flop sweat and shadowy shave

count against, haircut and charm for.

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Curious how regular-life daily debates

once felt as vital as food, clothing, shelter,

debates with lovers, family, friends,

strangers, debates as urgent as sex drive.

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Back-in-the-day debates about war, peace,

comedy, tragedy, inner child and outer space

stimulated the mind, yes? Even debates for

debates’ sake invigorated the spirit, no?

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No. They didn’t. No matter how dazzling,

debates merely go ’round and ’round,

furiously whining like wheels spinning

in muck and mire, traction forever elusive.

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Clinton-Trump debate? As real

as “reality” show from which

debater-turned-stalker spewed,

roiling rants rendering facts moot.

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Life can’t be endless debates won or lost.

No points for being right, or righteous.

Even if such sketchy scorecards exist,

no matter, no points, no point at all.

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Instead, all along, hiding in plain sight

in debates’ hazy dystopian maze, waiting

wordlessly like heroic stoic sentinels, stand

two of life’s noble needs: to be helpful, humble.

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Done with lifetime of debates. What relief!

Finally. Late bloomer? But not too late

to seize the day, any day, or any moment.

Satisfy those needs with modest deeds momentous.