Ode to Ivan

Yesterday I received in the mail a rather large package from LA. In it were many charming presents for my birthday, the actual date of which all parties have agreed not to discuss. If you receive a letter from me on exotic-looking paper, you can thank Lindsey for inspiring me to keep up with my correspondences. If I begin to incessantly quote Hitchhiker’s at you, Lindsey is the person you may blame. She has kindly rectified the fact that Fate has denied me a copy of the omnibus for far too long.

In order to thank her for these and other useful and amusing gifts, I have decided to attempt a poem in her honor. It shall be a haiku, because of earlier precedent. It shall be called, “To Ivan, on the Occasion of the Arrival of my Birthday Presents, which were Highly Enjoyable and Very Nicely Presented and in all ways Delightful and included also that Magic Substance called Chocolate for which we share a Great Fondness, in Particular when Frozen and Consumed alongside Fancy Cakes and Washed Down with Mulled Wine, the Heavy Alcoholic Fragrance of which, After Simmering, we had to Pretend Not to have Noticed when your Mom asked What It Was, and By the Way I Meant to Ask You, is that Bottle of Wine Still in your Kitchen Cabinet? Because She’s Going to Wonder About That”

You can’t be conservative with the title of a haiku because the poem itself is so limiting. Here is the Work of Art:

To Ivan, old friend,
(I mean longstanding, not old)
--shit, I wasted it.

Okay, well. Like I said, limiting. But um, really, thanks, Linds. You are a wonderful friend and also, it’s true, the only person I can talk to about how Richard Taylor just burns me up inside.