Opinion: Why Rob Sand kinda…?

There comes a moment in every young person’s life when traditional political analysis simply isn’t enough. When suddenly the charts, policy analysis, and carefully worded praise fail to explain the confusing mix of admiration, respect, and deeply inconvenient attraction inspired by Iowa State Auditor and gubernatorial candidate Robert Howard Sand. At that point, there is only one responsible option left: poetry.

What follows is not an endorsement, nor is it a cry for help. Instead, it is an individual’s attempt to grapple with a campaign built on plaid button-ups, auditing, and the strange vitality of a 43-year-old bug-eyed Iowan named Rob.

In lieu of yard signs or attack ads, I offer a sonnet:

There is no man whom I love more than Rob,
With his ocean blue eyes and six-foot frame.
Iowa-born, he loves corn on the cob,
And as an auditor, his skills aren’t tame

His vast array of plaid button-up shirts
Excite me so, yet I crave what’s beneath;
My traitorous heart pounds so hard it hurts
As waves of my lust course from toes to teeth.

A lover of Casey’s pizza and gas
And sporting a head full of SANDy blonde hair,
There’s nothing hotter than khaki-clad ass.
My better sense dissolves into air.

All clear! Make way! Form a path for my band
As we march together, cheering for Sand!