Embarrassingly Old Work: Poetry: Ode to Seinfeld – From 1995

Every Thursday night at nine you show up, never missing
Your subjects range from mulva to heckling and hissing
As the credits roll, I sit, and hold remote in hand
Knowing I don’t have to change at a ruthless mom’s command

Each night Jerry starts the show, with a clever quip or two
And slowly removes person, to show character to you
He’s been outlawed from a market, for buying Kramer’s stuff
And when he knows that he’s been had, It’s by Newman, sure enough

Ah Newman! Insolent Newman! It seems it’s all your fault
For betraying Jerry’s secrets, once locked up in his vault

Now George is something different. He never, ever wins
But he knows his cross to bear, he lies, cheats, sneaks, then grins
“But Jerry now, you have to help me, please, please please, please, PLEASE!
When the phone rings, just pick it up and say `Vandeleigh Industries’”

His life is never interesting, it’s dull, drab, dry, and pallid
And where the hell does she get off, taking credit for my big salad?
Ushered as a rising star, the best hand model yet
And George will not repeat McKegny, hey he won a bet

And it seems as though that you’re at fault, for killing bubble boy
But why do you still bug Elaine, who’s easy to annoy?

Elaine, you are the very one who Jerry first adored
And now he knows you faked it, he knows that you were bored
Pretending you were deaf just to avoid a friendly cabby
Throwing Jerry cross the room whenever you are crabby.

O selfless one! O wicked Child! You care nothing for the rest!
Except of course on Christmas cards, revealing half your breast.
And perhaps you deserved it, when you were given rabies
For speaking of but communists, Low-fat yogurt, and troll babies.

But it was enough when you were forced to take that subway ride
All the while discussing Gyro’s, and bouquets of T.V. guide

Ah yes, at last there’s Kramer, the strangest of them all
This self-employed go-getter went and got lost in the mall
For fun he goes out to the beach, hits golf balls in the ocean
And at one point he couldn’t open doors, he had used so much damn lotion.

Well, Woody Allen knows just how pretzels make him thirsty
And when he makes an airport stop, he buys stuff duty free
And one day he will get to be in the land where pigmen roam
Until that dream is possible, his boys still need a home

So to sum it up, I watch the show, with disappointment rare
And each Thursday, come 9 o’clock you’ll find me sitting there.

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