My friends do more interesting things than me.
Lucy was a star as a kid
and so were Lydia and Dan.
Tony wrote a novel.
You know the number of people
who did a Song a Day for a year?
I can’t count ’em!

I know hikers and vegans
and hunters and plebians
and presidents and I met a couple of queens
– well they had Queen in their names –
and transfolk
and AntiFolk
and folk who see dead folk
and former Bergerfolk
(who are no relation)
and three other Jon or John Berger or Burgers.

THEY might not be more interesting than me
but that I know them is interesting,
I think.
I wanted to form a band with them.
Did I want to call us the Jons Berger
or did someone else?
We probably all wanted to be the leader.
I know I did.
Too many cooks spoil the broth…

I know cooks and I know crooks
and I know docs who have worn crocs.
They’ve got to have stories!
I know storytellers.
Even if they don’t do interesting things
they could claim they do, right?

I let a troubadour stay with me for a little while.
Does that make me interesting by proxy?
Think of his adventures on the road!
He was Australian, to boot.

I worked with a Kiwi once.
He had a mail order bride.
I knew aliens, legal and not.
I knew drug mules.
I knew people who rode mules.
I knew people who wore mules.

Me,
I get to talk about it.