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Ali & Mark
Three poems

By Leyla Momeny
June 4, 1999
The Iranian


there are 240 million john waynes in america
collaborating on the perfect lawn mower.

the same televisions.
watching the same
ball game.
licking the same barbecue sauce off
children's faces.
getting dressed
in the same sunday best
to battle freedom
and democracy.

240 million ways to say "I love you"
240 million ways to tell your wife to lose weight
240 million ways to introduce your child to barbie
240 million ways to blame gangsta rap for everything
240 million ways to tie your shoelaces
240 million ways to pick coke over pepsi
240 million ways to say "love it or leave it"

240 million ways to
piss me off.

Or the mean poem that I wrote out of irritation at 3:00 in the morning

keep me up all night
force me to listen
................ to your cliches and

Ali's tragedies

using phrases like
"clouds above, hills, and sunrises"
comparing your feelings to "a spicy soup"
Ali, I'm in no mood for metaphors,
I'm fucking exhausted.

don't get me wrong,
I want you to "succeed"
just don't drag me with you.

and don't say things like
"today is another day"

don't make me tell you again that
"I just want to be friends"

stop trying to analyze me
(I'm really not that
stop staring at me eating
(it's a rather human function).
stop offering to pay for things,
you really have nothing to do
with my car payment.
stop narrating the ratio
of sit-ups to pull-ups you slave every evening,
your exercise routine is...well,
your exercise routine.
stop pretending like we are similar,






Or Moments of Temporary Insanity

last friday I opened the motherload.
glanced sparingly at contents--
diet coke
eggless egg salad
paul newman something
poached eggs.
lonely refrigerator
for attention,
force me
to tromp down
to Farmer's Market--
find momma some friends.
(I don't always talk to appliances).
lazy me
in search of goodies
can't stop thinking
about you.
stroll down aisles of lettuce
and apple chips.
hop over screaming kid
begging for more sugar.
overweight mall moms
buying fruit rollups
and packaged corn syrup.
dead beat dads
(or men that just look like them)
buying beer
and more beer.
teenage girls
grabbing fashion magazines
and bubble gum.
old ladies
of the Depression
clutching coupons
and generic salsa.

silly me
lusting for
the MARKet
eyeing fresh fruit
and dandelions.
green peppers
and garbanzo beans.
and foaming pomade.
walk down pasta aisle
imagined you
slurping spaghetti
in bed with me
strolling aside
shampoos and
shaving cream,
wonder what
you look like
in the morning.
sniffing synthetic lettuce
and sourdough,
I told the tomatoes I missed you.
In produce,
I saw grapes gyrating
and fresh blueberries
last friday,
I danced
under the fluorescent lights,
and could've sworn
I saw your eyeballs
in clusters
of bell pepper.

- Send a comment for The Iranian letters section
- Send a comment to the writer, Leyla Momeny

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