[Last Barman poem]
I am the last barman poet / I see America drinking the fabulous cocktails I make / Americans getting stinky on something I stir or shake / The sex on the beach / The schnapps made from peach / The velvet hammer / The Alabama slammer. / I make things with juice and froth / The pink squirrel / The three-toed sloth. / I make drinks so sweet and snazzy / The iced tea / The kamakazi / The orgasm / The death spasm / The Singapore sling / The dingaling. / America you’ve just been devoted to every flavor I got / But if you want to got loaded / Why don’t you just order a shot? / Bar is open.
You can’t repeat the past.
Can’t repeat the past?
Why, of course you can… of course you can.
[while staying over at Raquel’s apartment]
let me ask you a question: what do you think Steven would do if he found out about David?
I mean screwing around is second oldest reason to kill someone.
Oh really, and what would be the first?
[raises a glass]
You cry when we fuck, you pasty little bitch!
Feelings are like kids. You don’t want them driving the car, but you don’t want to stuff them in the trunk, either.
[to Harper, while arguing with Cathy]
Can we have a… a-a-a minute, please ?
No, you can’t.
I would like to talk to Jack alone.
This is geopolitics. It’s not couples therapy.
When I drink, I ask nosey questions.
When I drink, I marry losers.
I’m in love with your son.
Not that one.
[points to Peter]
[points to Jack]