Alvy

La-di-da,
I laugh, and
you are back on how we just might be
a Woody Allen movie and
if so, there is no way

I am Annie Hall
because she is just so
blasé and light and
there is nothing light about
the way we drink our scotch or
eat the pizza that had since cooled off and
no longer burns our tongues

It’s true
I don’t understand why
you stay with your wife,
your girlfriend in California,
your analyst,
none of them understand
like your cowherd friend in high school
how you sat on the couch with the fat girl and
told awkward jokes while your friend in
the bedroom kissed her
fine-haired friend

La-di-da, because I think maybe you are
more fucked up than me and
that is why I love you or
because we have nothing in common
except that cubicle next to my cubicle in
harsh 10am light
scotch-stamped mornings
Rachel the bartender,
who maybe loves both of us,
the cure for our problems
airbrushing over our problems
Photoshop portraits and unbitten nails

One more pitcher of beer
it’s dessert, Tuesday night,
La-di-da, and thank god
you’ve made me laugh
because you need to earn it and
this time I let you
the men on the Blackberries and
waiter on the phone
the beer foam sloshing over
the rim of my glass onto
pizza crust graveyards and

to you I am Tracy or Mary,
Diane?
but you could never be Woody,
I promise, I promise,
I’m sorry, I promise,
la-di-da.

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3 responses to “Alvy

  1. Wow, that’s some deep shit right there. This is really amazing…

  2. I’m sitting on my toilet because that’s the only place in my apartment where I get the Internet.

    Don’t freak, I’m not using the toilet.

    I’m just sitting on it, and my computer is on my lap.

    I remembered your blog, so I decided to take a look.

    Consider me blown away. Or just consider me at all. Could you consider me again once you get your ducks in a row?

    I can’t promise that I’ll be your Alvy, but I can promise many folksy American idioms.

  3. I’d say you’re more my Allison. You’re like New York, Jewish, left-wing, liberal, intellectual, Central Park West, Brandeis University, the socialist summer camps and the father with the Ben Shahn drawings, right? And the really strike-oriented kind of, red diaper… Stop me before I make a complete imbecile of myself.

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