jonberger

She said let’s draw
but I didn’t know how.
It’s easy! He said,
Just let yourself go.
It’ll come naturally.
I tried to grin
but wondered if it came out like a grimace.
It felt like a grimace.

They were fine artists.
Not to say they were graphic artists
– which they were –
but were fine at it
and then they had invited me to join them
in their little game
and I so wanted to impress.
It’ll be fun! He cajoled
and she smiled so winsomely
and I did so want to impress
but I didn’t know how.

I didn’t know how to do anything they wanted
which became increasingly clear
as time went on
and communication intensified.

I tried, though.
I did.
It wasn’t enough.

I am slow to fast
but I think I shall do so
tomorrow, when it is more convenient
to my schedule.

Yes, tomorrow rather fits into my plans
much better, so I think God
will be quite amenable
to my adjustment
when I opt to rinse away my sins
on a timetable of my choosing.

When I do deign to diet
for my 24 hours
as my fealty and faith
feel importantly about
I shall be drinking copiously
to drown away all my crimes
against the Good Book
in the upcoming year.

This flushing out the system
is my own addition to the canon
and I think it’s great:
every drop of urine I squeeze
from every glass of water I swallow
seems a perfect symbol,
a poignant part of the process.

And think:
this exciting process
of fasting will start soon.
Just not today.

Jimmy Carter is soon to celebrate his 99th birthday.
It’ll be next week, if he makes it.
I pray he does – but not to Jesus,
because he is not as good as Jimmy
since the older JC will soon have circled the sun
three times what JC Junior did.

I know that Lennon got in a little trouble
for saying that the Beatles sold more records than Christ
but what’s the Pope gonna do now:
take Jimmy’s peanut butter ice cream away?
I would hate that.
I love peanut butter ice cream
– especially if there’s some chocolate chunks in it.

(If Reese’s could sponsor this particular piece of heathenomics,
I’d appreciate it!)

Anyway, Jimmy didn’t say anything; I did.
And Jimmy’s the oldest ex-president.
Any punishment he suffers at this point is beside the point.
He lost to Bonzo’s Bedsider and became a construction worker afterward.
And the Pope’ll have nothing on this guy
who is three times the JC
that JC was.

Yeah, I said it.
Pope’s got no power here.
Now let Jimmy rest some more, ey?

I have made the argument before
that the perfect gender neutral term
has been before our eyes all along
if we only squint a little.
You just need to take the negative connotations
away from “it,” decide that there’s nothing wrong with it
(see what I did there?),
and just move on.

Seeing as how we have to make decisions
and work the language to our will
however we do it,
I don’t see why creating words like “ze”
need be part of the picture.
Just repurpose “it.”

The problem all along
has been who would be willing to take the first step.
I thought about it for a minute,
and I decided I wasn’t man enough
to lead the charge
and be an it myself,
which proves the point,
I guess,
of how poor an idea it was
in the first place.

So nothing was before our eyes,
all along?
Well, what’re you doing about it?
Anyway…

You are weary.
You are weakened.
You are wishing there were some way
to wander off from this situation
but you cannot see it
as far as your glimmering vision can go.

Wherever you are in this place
you cannot escape the smell.
The smell of death pervades everything.

You have tried walking away.
You have tried candles.
You have tried garlic.
This home is left with the stench of decay
and it will simply not go away.

You wish there was more you could do.
Your mind is half gone
living with this deathishness.
It is demoralizing.
You are reaching the point
where you are considering actually cleaning
but you are not there yet.

There are days left
before that Rubicon need be crossed.
You can live in this Hell
without searching
for the cause of this stench
just a little longer.

I would like to take a moment
to thank the Nigerian singer/rapper
who performed after the act I came to see tonight with his backing tracks and cajoled the crowd to “get up and dance!”
like his life depended on it.

It didn’t, of course,
but some of us followed his call for activity
and got off our asses
and into position
and listened to the music.

There weren’t many of us.
Most left
after the show we came to see ended
but this guy started very quickly
afterward to pick up the crumbs
of the 7 o’clock act
since he didn’t bring anyone himself.

What he brought was the tunes
and the energy
and the voice.
What I brought was the sweat
and the memory of doing this kind of thing
once, a million times before,
in a youth I longed to recall.

I would like to take a moment
to thank the Nigerian singer/rapper
for returning me to yesteryear
– though no earlier yesteryear included Nigerian music.

I am better
than I was before.

I think his name was Zexsy.

Your pedal’s been holding you back, man.
You’ve been writing to the tools
and not the tunes,
if you know what I’m saying.
You gotta write with the bare minimum materials available
so when things go wrong
as they usually will
you’ll be prepared
like a Boy Scout
away from the creepy troop leader.

Just get down to brass tacks
and be the Big Mac
and get to it
and do it.
use nothing.
Write with a bucket for rhythm
if you have to.
No, no ifs, ands or buts.
Get to it;
that’s an order.

The pedal’s been holding you back.
Get yourself back in whack, man.
You can hack it.
That’s a fact.

My therapist says “you should examine your new work
and compare it to your old work
and see how they differ.
There may be themes that you explore
now
that you didn’t explore then.
There might be something fascinating
for you to discover.”

I look at my therapist.
“You have been taking money
from my Flexible Spending Account
because you have the numbers
to withdraw what I owe you.
You’ve withdrawn like twice
what you should have.

“What the fuck, man!
We’ve got a relationship built on trust here
and I’m on insurance
so the amounts you’re taking isn’t that much.
Why are you lifting from my account?
There’ve got to be better targets
bigger suckers than me
on your client list.
Do you do this to everyone?

“I didn’t want to bring this up
because I think it’ll shatter the relationship that exists. I can swallow the losses,
I think,
more than the loss of the relationship.
But how can you just sit there
like that
like nothing’s going on?”

“That’s a good idea,”
I say,
rather than any of the thoughts before.
“I should examine my work.
Maybe there have been changes afoot.”

Could you please try again?
I’m sorry.
I don’t mean to be curt
or rude, or suggest you don’t know what you’re doing
with your last response
or anything like that.

I appreciate everything you do
– really. You’ve been very helpful.

It’s just
I haven’t been able to get through
to my kid in about three hours
and I think he’s trying to freeze me out
and I’m pretty sure he’s blocking my calls.
I’m paying for the plan;
there’s got to be a rule against that,
right?

Is there some way you can get me through
to this boy
or is there a way I can hunt him down?
No, I haven’t got a tracker on him.
I’m not a monster!
How would you do that, anyhow?

Later. Later!
For now,
how do I just
get in touch
with the creep?

Thank you.
You’ve been so helpful.

The dog just ate the dog’s food.
Wait – I’m not saying it right.
The third dog took the first dog’s food.
The young one stole from the older one.
Benji ate out of Cookie’s bowl.
It’s not cool, man.
They’ve got different bowls
for different life cycles.

They’ve been trained for this.
I’ve talked to them
I don’t know how many times.
And though it’s mostly Benji,
his damned selfishness,
I wish Cookie would just go to her bowl
and eat from it faster
so Benji doesn’t get a chance.
Doesn’t she get what this critter’s gonna do?
Hasn’t she seen this enough time’s before?
When’s she gonna learn?

I do not know how to drill it
into Cookie’s canine head
that dogs’re just gonna be dogs.

The only one smelling like a rose
through all of of this
is Scruffy
though he has been dragging around something dead.