Jake Gyllenhaal, Vince Vaughn, & Robert Redford

by n8 heneghan

Jake Gyllenhaal

An allergy to rabbit dander so savage you could grate cheese on those abs but for what purpose

did I say rabbit I meant bunny bawling your head off in the kitchen

cottonwood snowing in the background

still fuzzy from some trauma

too obscure sunglasses can’t hide

the performative equivalent of empty calories with a side serving of feigned indifference

a reluctant spokesperson for barbiturates a tacit endorsement of nepotism

worked at the dollar store before they paid 99 cents

stole a cell phone

from the amish to call you and it still wasn’t enough to forget me or remember to write your congressman

about the serious nagging issues

like a broken collarbone suffered secondhand in a consignment store of unknown origin

that fits perfectly despite everything I owe you

Vince Vaughn

Cherry blossoms falling on an abandoned warehouse.

The sorrow of seeing a fast food restaurant reduced to a shell

of its former glory. If this isn’t American

I’m not sure what isn’t.

The palm trees have been tagged for reconnaissance. If reforestation were a crime we’d all be astronauts.

Sound the alarm, the hamburger stand is on fire.

The mirage of a racist,

an apparition of future obligations.

Vincent, get in the van,

a convoluted ploy on masculinity in three and a half acts.

You might as well give me a ride I know you have

to go there anyway.

I’ll be there in five seconds, not a moment too soon.

A hospital is a building, building toward something revered in perpetuity.

They tried and failed to nurse the coca-cola plant back to health. It died on a Thursday.

You rescued me (you know) from a certain death

too grim to prevaricate.

I was young once

but too young to remember. Abject poverty is everywhere roaming the streets

bereft of all nomenclature to the consternation of baseball stadiums and orthodontists alike.

Shoot up a burrito stand, paralegals in action.

They’re accepting applications at the Braille Institute if

you can take time to read it. We all have our five seconds of fame at the craft services table just put it on

the credit card and forget about it.

Robert Redford

I can’t tell you what to do with your life. Combing your hair under the floodlights, taking batting practice

on the broadside of a barn, can’t throw a ball

in the ocean to save your life.

Dating poster boys

‘til the cows come home, a lifetime supply

of inorganic popcorn. Voted most likely to mow his own lawn

by the class valedictorian.

You made a movie about a poet who has no idea who you are.

Beleaguered by divorce, a mercenary at sea misdirected by cliché.

When you die you won’t meet god.

Fly fishing was never my forte.

I’ve met that river somewhere.

Go to the place where you can feel the concrete

whistling between your toes,

the drug-sniffing dogs hovering overhead.

Driving so slow in the left lane,

a trailer park named solitude. Couldn’t get to second base on the golf course.

Allison for sheriff.

Celebrating amnesia awareness month, a 5-star graduate

at miscegenation university.

I’d give my left arm for an autograph.

We didn’t stop at pizza and neither should you.

You had a party at your house but forgot to send the invitations.