You know, in a way, it’s gotta suck, kind of, to be John Cusack.
Imagine carrying, in the back of your head, the dull, throbbing
that to hundreds of thousands of women
between the ages of, say, 35 to 42, you are
Because we all lay awake in the early dawn,
straining to hear the faint burbling of “In Your Eyes”
from a boom box being elevated by Lloyd Dobler.
Say you’re involved with John Cusack.
Say you’ve just moved in with him
into some hip loft
wherever the hip lofts are located these days.
What happens the first time John Cusack
leaves the toilet seat up?
I would think something in you would die a little.