I love you, Bridget Moynahan,
but seem to be the only one.
Tom Brady had his way with you
and knocked you up, but then was done.
How is John Edward Thomas M.,
your Patriot/douche-orphaned son?
You’ve been so close to breaking out
a few times in your long career;
you shined in Coyote Ugly
(2000 seemed to be your year,
with that and Sex and the City—
you had a guest role, so I hear).
The next year, too, was pretty good.
You rocked in Serendipity!
Well, you were in it, I should say;
I’m using the word “rocked” loosely.
I guess that you could say your role
in I, Robot was quality?
I shouldn’t be so quick to judge:
it’s not your fault, your birthday’s cursed!
The Bounty had its mutiny,
and Mussolini died, but worse,
some thirty-four years before you,
Saddam Hussein had your birth first.
So clearly it can’t be your fault:
the day is cursed, what can you do?
Except—don’t take this the wrong way—
Jessica Alba shares it, too,
and she can’t act, but still gets jobs.
Oh wait, and Penélope Cruz.
So what? That’s just two actresses,
you can’t count Mary McDonnell.
Or Ann-Margret. Or Madge Sinclair.
Bridget, I can’t believe that all
these women share your cursed birthday.
The world is seriously small.
Okay, but still, there’s other things.
You can’t work now that you’re a mom.
It’s hard enough to learn your lines
and act them out with grace, aplomb.
But Alba has a toddler, too…
Damn, Jessica! Girl, you the bomb!