jonberger

I called the city because the tree
outside my front door needed help.
It was half torn
out of its spot,
I assumed, by a backing truck.

The help the city provided
was removing the tree
which was not what I had in mind.

Now I have no tree outside my front door.
It’s an industrial neighborhood,
the only green I can see within several blocks
Is weeds between cracked cement.

I have thought about calling to request
a replacement tree
but I shudder to think
how that request can be misunderstood.

On bad days,
the sound system was released from under its covers
the record was unsheathed
put on the turntable
the lights were put on dim,
and Momma would dance to “I Will Survive.”

This was for low days
when depression had set in.
There might have been problems with men
or work
or friends
that I would know nothing about
but the solution would be
a shot of Gloria Gaynor
– sometimes a triple.

I could understand the song
to a degree
about a woman done wrong
by a man
who wouldn’t love her right
and I felt helpless to support my mother.

I could only be there
to offer silent testimony
to Momma’s tribulations.

The dancing seemed to help.
She appeared better
after several repetitions.

I later would hear a male version
by Cake
that I could call my own.
I like Cake.

I was a headache
a problem waiting to be solved
somebody’s issue
a pulsing, painful reminder of a bad time.

I was a sharp, annoying spike in the skull.

I was no fun
– though I hoped to be otherwise.

I was not looked forward to
I had to be removed
I needed to be executed
and everybody knew it.

I wonder if I’ve changed since then
– if anyone sees me differently.
I wonder if there’s a way to get that information
without again proving to be such a headache.

Apparently, it was August in Arizona,
when the snows came on down
and Santa was seen as silhouette
on silent nights.
It was a weird weekend.

Nobody was sure what was going on.
The rest of the Southwest
was not experiencing inclimate weather
– and it was not a dry cold.
It was a slushy snow
that was great for packing and building.

Soon enough, Frosty came out to play,
though he made no mention
of returning on Christmas Day.
He didn’t want to suggest that lightning
would strike twice in this part of the world.

As mentioned, it didn’t last more
than a weekend.
Things started to thaw out
and the seasons realigned
and this Phoenix fantasy fizzled.
Pretty cool for the instants it lasted, though.

He liked her.
He liked her enough to want to ask her out
but not enough to risk being rejected by her.
He just didn’t think he could risk being rejected
by someone like her.
He didn’t think it would work with his reputation.

Not that he thought it was likely
that he’d be rebuffed,
but if there was a chance…
better to be lonely
than to risk that particular humiliation.

So he cursed the darkness alone
as she went out and about
with a dozen other suitors
who didn’t mind the risk
and saw nothing questionable
with someone like her
in the first place.

I understand she was victimized
many years’ ago.

I understand many were
so fucking many.

I understand I was unable to help at the time
I understand that vengeance is not mine to enact
even if I knew how.

I don’t understand how to help
or how to bring up helping.
I don’t know if bringing it up
is tearing at a scar.

I don’t know what to do.

Nothing has proven the best option.

Nothing
seems like a bad fucking option.

At the bus stop, the stranger
waved us away
making silent incantations
bizarre prestidigitations
and curious facial spasms
all at once.

We kept distance
but wanted to be seen by any drivers
looking for passengers
so didn’t go too far.

It wasn’t clear what the man was summoning.
Perhaps a bus?
But soon we saw

in his hands
a series of full-sized candy bars,
a Halloween cornucopia
and he without his wizard’s outfit!
Still, he played the part wonderfully.

He didn’t get on the next bus.
We didn’t see him at all
when we pushed off from the stop,
in fact.
It was as if

he disappeared

or maybe he was eating his candy
somewhere else.

My father, the teacher,
would tell us about the flora and fauna
we would see as we passed,
often unasked.

I certainly don’t remember ever asking him
what kind of tree or flower
we were looking at.
I can’t imagine that being of particular interest.

Dad had a particular bug
that when he didn’t know a plant,
he’d identify it as a Mimosa.
I didn’t notice.
I don’t know what a Mimosa looks like
and, if you recall, I wasn’t too interested
in the identities of plants anyway.

But I liked the subterfuge, so I use it, too.
It works in more situations than Dad thought it would, though. “What kind of reptile is that?”
“Mimosa.”
“Which department were you hired by?”
“Oh, Mimosa!”
“What time is the movie?”
“Mimosa, of course.”

I don’t know if people are more gullible than they used to be, or if they’re never listening to me.

Apparently, it was New Years’ when I stopped drinking
so it’s really easy to figure out
how long I’ve been sober, he said.

He never told me, of course.
I don’t think he stayed sober very long.
He was always wearing long sleeves.

I haven’t seen him for some time.
I wonder if he’s left town?

Because I have produced no offspring
it’s not clear who will take care of me
when I fall ill in my later years.

For a while I was fairly certain
I wouldn’t have later years
so it wouldn’t be much of a concern
but I’m taking better care of myself
so it’s something to think about.

My mother, bless her,
has reached out to her younger friends
to ensure that they’ll look out for me
as I enter decrepitude over the coming decades.
Some with children have agreed
to check if I’m still breathing
every now and then.

It is here that I pronounce my relief.

I have begun to take care of myself.
Maybe I will begin to build
the social network that will be there
when I grow weak
and we will have each other’s backs
into the twilight.

We will have to see.
If not, I need to have a different plan in place.