jonberger

The road stretches.
I passed Syosset
which I’m pretty sure
is where your uncle used to live.
I wonder how he is.
I wonder about you.

I wonder what it’s like for you
where you are now
and if there’s a place for me
and if your uncle still visits
and if he talks about that time
I just stopped by
and if he ever got that saber replaced.

I know you’ve got other things going on
with other people
and other schedules
but I thought it was worth mentioning
that I was thinking about you
and your uncle
and those Thursdays
and I just got out of Syosset
and the road stretches ahead.

The police station down the block
has before it
a sign on the lamppost
that reads emblazoned in red
No Parking Anytime.

Before that sign
at any hour
of any day are parked a series of police cars.
They are angle parked
a rarity in this city
and they invariably spill over onto the curb
interrupting pedestrian passage
on the street.

Passers-by are used to this
and nobody is terribly inconvenienced
by the clear and consistent illegality
presented by law enforcement
on an always basis.

The sign does not read
For Authorized Use Only.
There is a gated parking lot
behind the station.
The traffic on Longwood sucks
and would no doubt be somewhat alleviated
were there less cars parked
where no cars
are supposed to be parked.

These streets were called
in wilder times
Fort Apache.
A movie was made
about the corruption
and the strident relations
between neighborhood and NYPD.
Things have gotten better.
The neighborhood complains less.

What did you want, she asked.
What did you expect?
Did you think that your pretty words
were going to make me fall for you
here and now?
Your words are not so pretty.
They are more clever
and really very self-deprecating.
Why would they make your case?
What would I be
if they convinced me
to be with you?

What were you looking for, she asked.
What was your end game?
Did you honestly believe
we were a perfect couple
that we were suited for a life together?
What evidence made you suspect
we had longevity?
What strands between us
would you say were strong enough
to take us to eternity?

Can you look at me, she said,
look at me right now
and tell me what makes me special
the alleged object of your ardor
as opposed to all the other women
who have caught your eye
while we’ve sat here?
What is my particular appeal?
Why are we here together?
Can you tell me, she asked,
just what you want of me?

I only had questions
to return to her.
She soon responded
with one final answer.

Yes, yes!
There was a distinct chance
that I was objectifying you before
but only because I did not
yet have enough information
to successfully subjectify you
or make you my subject
or my queen
or whatever I should be doing
instead of the dreaded objectification.

The important thing is
you didn’t give me
enough of a chance
to treat you any way but wrong
so I can’t see how I can be blamed
for the atrocity of our early interactions.

I deserve, despite what you think,
a second, third,
and sixth chance.
Just let me try more with you
until I finally
inexplicably
convince you to fall for me.

It’s OK to be scared.
There are days when you look at the world
and the world looks at you
and you’re not sure
if you’re playing a game of chicken
or slapsies
and before you figure it out
the world smacks you hard
and you just quit for the week.
It’s fine to take a break.

But eventually
you’ve got to face the day
and put on your big boy pants.
Just go out into the strawberry grove
and take on the world
no matter what it did to you before.

Take on a new identity if you have to.
Become The Purple Persimmon
or SandrAlice as necessary.
Change however you need to
to conquer the demons
but get out there
and get shit done.

That’s how you become a man,
my son,
or whatever you are.

The stench was palpable.
The power was still on
but somehow her fridge had stopped cooling
so, after a month of inattention,
her fully packed ice box was no longer icy
and all its contents was rotting away.

There were bugs
there were maggots
and of course
the aforementioned smell
which had hung
in the abandoned room.

There was nothing to be salvaged
in the space
though it was one of the few remaining locations
in the apartment
where life still abided.
We collected garbage bags and gloves
and pins for our noses
and quick as possible
emptied the freezer of its evil goods
and left the decay on the snowy street
for others to worry about.

The smell did not disappear right away.
It would waft.
It would linger.
Eventually, like memory,
it would pass.

I offered to give her a ride.
"Where to," I said, "East side?"
"Nope. Further out."
"What, Brooklyn?"
"Further."
"Queens?"
"Further."
"Uh…. not Staten Island?"
"Jesus, no. Further East."
"Oh, East-er, then." I thought about it.
I couldn’t think of what was further East than Queens.

I took her to Long Island.
It wasn’t that bad, guys.
Really, they walk and talk
and act like you and me.
I was surprised, too.

I don’t know how often
I’m prepared to do these kinds of mitzvahs
in the future, though.
But as a one-time thing,
not too bad.

Three cakes lay before you
and you have to chose amongst them:
the chocolate cake
the white cake
and the rainbow
(the rainbow is not a metaphor
for a multicultural existence
much as you would like it to be.
It’s just the cake that happens to be
in the middle).

The chocolate cake
is dry.
The white cake
far too sweet.
The rainbow cake has no consistency
and barely makes it
from fork to mouth
without dispersing somewhere
upon your shirt.
It’s a mess.

Your mission:
how to tell
your fiance’s aunt
that you like hers best?
Extra points
if you get me the answer
fast.

I feel like
I should apologize to everyone
for everything
because I feel
like every step lately
has been an awkward one
foolish and stupid
and people suspect
how dumb I have become.

I don’t know if this is medication talking
or a new fear
that my veneer is cracked
and that all can see beneath
the crippled soul
so poorly hidden
for so long.
Maybe trumpeting this anxiety so loudly
will get me the help I so desperately need.
Probably not.

Probably anyone who sees
will correctly interpret these sub-teen lines
as the meanderings as a sub-teen
and think he’ll grow out of them.
I’m sure I will.
It’ll get better any minute
I’ll bet.

Sorry for bothering you.

To be honest, I shook.
I quaked in anticipation
thinking about the repercussions.
I worried about them for a long while.
I wasn’t sure if she’d take the big gesture
in the spirit it was meant.
There were so many ways it could go wrong,
so many possibilities
for my meaning to get lost or misconstrued.
I was scared for how it would go
but it was far too important to me
not to take the risk.

Someone like her
is too rare a discovery
not to make the effort
not to even try.
I have stood by the sidelines for far too long
letting life pass me by
and I couldn’t allow myself
to see the chance of experiencing
an existence with her simply disappear
without my testing the waters.
So I ordered the roses.
I bought the teddy bears.
I picked the edible assortments
of candies and cheeses and meats.
I even wrote a poem or two
in case that was the kind of thing
that would float her boat.

It still took me a while
to get up the nerve
to pull the trigger
and make my feelings known.
I had shivered.
I had shook.
I was scared as shit
and worried that I would lose
what little I had of her
so ashamed would I be
of the rejection and humiliation
if my efforts were to fail.
But nothing ventured
nothing gained,
I had once been told.
So I ventured.
I did.
It could have gone so terribly
and it did.