jonberger

There are so many pillows here
so many ruffles
so much lace.
It is hard to move freely
with the degree of refinement
all around me.

This is unfortunate.
I am uncomfortable
the veritable bull in China,
shopping around for some kind of trouble,
unaware of what he’s doing
unclear of what world he’s walking into.
Why is everything so soft here?
Why are my horns so hard?

I don’t know where to turn
for fear of doing harm
for fear of doing wrong.
What won’t I break
with my dastardly bastard hands?
I do not belong.
I should go
from this place of pillows and lace.
I should be somewhere rougher
where everything is not in danger
of my tough.
I must go somewhere safe
from me.

Soon.
After the scented candles and tea
have wafted through the room
I will go
from this alien place
that I could ever truly understand.

When you asked me to kill the sluggish rat
probably poisoned and ill
crawling in the gutter
looking for a place to die,
I thought you were joking
so I laughed off your words
and went about my day.

I ignored the seriousness
the compassion underlying your request.
I am not the most soulful sort
and didn’t understand the need
in your plea
so I let the creature
and you
suffer.
Now, you have my apology,
years after the rat
had an awful ending.

This, what I offer now,
is too little
and far too late,
but the next time
you ask me to kill something,
whether rat or cat
or some Matt in a hat
with a bat ’till he’s flat,
it shall be done
immediately, no questions asked.

Whatever I can do
to make that last thing right.

Sometimes
the title of the poem
is longer than the poem
itself.

And then one day,
POOF! It was gone.
After months of lovelorn poems
insane hearts and arrows in ridiculous positions
inexplicable devotion
obsession
demonic possession
all the interest inherent in your investment,
the spell was broken
and you found yourself out of the fevered state
that had affected you
– infected you –
for too long.

What changed?
What road diverged to make you a different creature
than the one dogging her steps just hours before?
Was it a few extra hours sleep
or the results of some change of medication?
Why were you somehow able to resist the charms
that had overpowered
so completely
so absolutely
oh, so recently?

You’re smarter now:
seeing things more clearly
less through the haze of passion.
Your eyes are not fogged with a hunger
or desire
or – even the need to describe the state in detail was passing. But still, what made you past the thing
that had trapped you before?

Does it matter?
You’re free of that love sickness
but you know full well
you’re going to be caught again
any time now.

Any day now, I’m getting out of here
moving on
taking a slow boat to Albuquerque.
I swear,
as soon as I’ve got enough in the bank
and Momma Nonni’s gotten my lucky socks darned
with the right special rituals
and I’ve guess the correct number of Pez
in the cookie jar.

I just need to get my ducks aligned
before I make the big move.
Sort out all the angles
and have odds evened
and all that.
It’s important that chance be left out
when I’m ready to get out of here
– though I’m ready now.

God, I’m ready.
I would leave today
– this very second –
if my socks were darned.

And all the other stuff.

What can be done for us?
I thought I could forgive anything
but you’re not looking for any absolution.
You don’t care what I think
or think you did wrong
or perhaps you have a divergent morality
or something else again
that I haven’t yet considered.

There is so much
that I hadn’t considered before.
Why wouldn’t there be more
still to come?

I don’t know what to do
if we’re living these very different ways.
There’s no point
in responding to you
if you couldn’t care less
in whatever I do.

What can be done for us?
You would say nothing,
I suspect.
And if that’s what half of us believe
it is hard to believe
that it would be wrong.

Having introduced you two
I felt responsible for your love
even when you grew so close
you stopped having the time
for me or any of the activities
we once all shared.

I grew bitter about you two
but still felt proud
of this thing I had wrought,
this beast I had built
from the two of you
making one true thing
of your love.

Good job, me.

And now, this?
This schism, because of,
what?
You’ve grown apart?
Why could be so bad
that you cannot work it out?
This cannot be severed.
You must maintain this thing.
It is far too important,
please!

What will you two do
without what we have built?

No, I agree.
I get it; you’re right.
Monogamy is not the natural position for human beings.
Why would it be?
We should procreate prodigiously
with as many partners
as our bodies allow.
I’m with you
in theory, but…
I can’t really swing
the other way.

I’m not good at sharing.
I’m too nervous.
I’m too disconcerted
too worried about the competition
about falling short
seeming inferior
seeming small.

I can’t be among too many
because I might be seen coming up
short.
For good or ill,
I’m a one-woman man.
Monogamy all the way.
The boy can’t help it
though intellectually
I see the appeal
of the alternative.

I had an aunt once,
hard-working, kind,
a cubicle girl.
She had a boyfriend,
a drummer
for a band you never heard of
named after some kind of insect or another.
They weren’t any good.
He was especially no good.

Our family couldn’t stand him
but she was in love
so she housed him
and fed him
and took care of all of his bills
including the medical ones
for all his bar fights.

God, what an asshole.

Even when caught cheating
she couldn’t bear to be away from him.
Even when he was fired from his band
for missing the beat.
Even when he couldn’t keep
his part-time delivery gig
because he couldn’t keep air
in his bike’s tires.
True love, right?

Eventually, he left her
when she couldn’t afford to keep him
in the style
he’d grown accustomed.
I’m sure they’re both better off now.

Every day I carve
from the chaos of my home
a little bit more space
a slide more stability.
I hew and hack
and burn away at the forest
of trash that generations
of mindless life have left
in this place I have called mine
for far too long.
I destroy my property
to safeguard something more.

My valuables are being taken away
and given to others
– sometimes rats
sometimes beggars
sometimes winds –
so that I can reclaim space
and peace
and harmony.

Soon I will have regained something lost
if all goes according to plan.