In an interview with Time magazine, Woody Allen justified his relationship with Soon-Yi, his partner Mia Farrow’s adopted daughter, by saying: ‘The heart wants what it wants.’ And I don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t hear that and recognise it as a romantic, totally unsociopathic philosophy for living.
What Woody Allen’s Heart Wants
I arrive home unexpectedly to find Woody Allen’s heart having sex with my wife.
‘Woody Allen’s heart! What the fuck?’
The heart rolls off and smiles at me: ‘Hey. I want what I want!’
Gun and a wink. Freeze. Roll titles.
Woody Allen’s heart gatecrashes my niece’s sixth birthday party,
elbowing past freckled girls in polka dot dresses
to push the entire birthday cake into its red and bloody mouth.
‘I want what I want,’ the heart splutters through layers of white fondant
and the party cheers.
The heart does what the heart does.
The heart is what the heart is.
The heart loves tautology.
The heart is Popeye.
The heart lives in a bricked up chimney like a crow.
The heart sneezes and the whole world gets a cold.
The heart gets mad and makes a list.
The heart, the heart blames you for this.
Woody Allen’s heart appears at 3am drunk on my front lawn with a mariachi band playing ‘Back For Good’, begging me to forgive it.
‘I forgive you!’
The heart squints: ‘Wait. Is this Number 52?’
I shake my head and point across the street.
‘Aw fuck. Come on boys.’
Five sombreros hovering in the darkness like UFOs,
as the heart stops
to piss on my azaleas.
If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy my poetry collection, Pub Stuntman. You can order it here.
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