jonberger

It’s foolish to think you ever would
but I think of you often
even after all this time.
Every so often,
I try to find you
and always fail
but every day, elsewise,
I have you with me
even if it’s not at all true for you.

You’ve been drinking water.
A lot of water.
Enough water to drown a cow,
you’ve been drinking.

You hope you will see the results you’re looking for:
the hunger abatement
the cleared complexion
the lack of blackouts from dehydration,
but you’re drinking in faith at the moment.
You believe this will help you
immensely.

It better, since you’ve been pissing.
A great deal of piss.
Enough piss to create a urine cow
which no one should ever have to see.
You’ve been dashing to the bathroom so much,
you’re daily clocking your required steps.
It’s immense, really.

It’s all for the good, though.
You’ll reach the desired conclusions.
Your health will improve
your bruises from falls will heal
and your skin will be like milk.
Not that you’re drinking milk.
Just that blessed H2O.
You’ve been drinking water.

There are two kinds of people in this world:
the categorists and the rest.
Of the category-makers, there are two kinds of people:
the insane and the rest.
Of the insane category-keepers, there are two kinds of people: the anal and the rest.
Of the insanely anal organizers, there are two kinds of people: the ones who get things done and the ones that don’t.
Of the mad, effective, persnickety folk who identify things, there are two kinds of people:
the blondes and the redheads.
Of the blonde, crazy, efficiently detail-oriented types that put everything into buckets, there are two kinds of people:
brunettes and men.
Of the male, golden-haired, well-put-together, Type A freaks who insist on categories for everything, there are two kinds of people:
us and them.

Me? I’m not any of ’em.

Tense Anniversary
On the tenth anniversary of your death
I woke up unrefreshed
and got to work late.
I read a little from the latest Billy Collins
but wrote no responses.

I took some calls from random customers
and had a fish and cheese sandwich.
I rode home at five
and found a busted spike on my bike.
There were some comics that needed reading
but my concentration was off
so I missed an important reveal in Spider-Man
that came back to haunt me later.

I went to bed early
to catch up on sleep
but turned and tossed,
so eventually ended up with video games.

I do still miss you,
but if I were to say that not a day goes by
I’d be lying.

My Batman socks do not give me special powers.
It’s stupid to think they would.
Batman is one of the few non-powered people
in all of the Detective Comics Pantheon.
If anything, I’d need Supergirl socks to get something out of it.

But I don’t even gain the will, the wealth, the wondrous purpose that fuels a boy like Batman.
I got some protection for my feet
and maybe a curious sense of fashion.
Nothing else comes to mind.

My Batman socks do not make me a better man
but my Scoobie-Doo socks turn me into quite the hound.

I wanted to write something called Scary Monsters
but I saw that it’s a David Bowie album.
Then I thought about writing Scary Mansions
but it’s a 3D video game
so I considered writing Scary Manson
but that’s pretty tautological to begin with
so scrapped the idea.

I presented myself with Scary Mod,
Scary Mob, Scary Mom and Scary Mop.
None of them spoke to me.
Scary Maddish did
but it didn’t really mean anything.
I went through Scary Macaque
Scary Mandrill
Scary Mandible
and finally Scary Max.
The less said the better.

Eventually, I saw the following words in my head:
Scary Madison Avenue Exec
That’s where I thought I might have lost the plot.

I found the plot with a different title.
I’ll bet you can’t guess it.

Our needs are diametric.
You need me to increase my attention
and I need you to take more responsibility.
Our rubber band stretches wobbly
and who knows what will snap it?

I don’t believe we can sustain this space we’ve saved for ourselves.
Someone’s got to give.
I hope it’s you.

It was unfortunate, that’s for sure…
When we got to Dachau
we saw that the guards had been busy
carefully killing camp prisoners for days.

We were horrified, of course,
but keeps our heads about us
as we rallied the guards
and placed them in the coalyard.

I turned my head, looking for more Germans,
and then heard the eruption from the gun.
They were trying to escape,
I was told,
while I saw their broken and bloodied bodies
rolling on the ground.

They had done awful things
certainly
but deserved better than being shot
at the end of the war.

What an ugly day.

Sweet little girl: so unassuming.
The kind of sort of lady that you’d never be presuming
would beat you ’round the bush with a flower or a tree
but she’s making enemies out of everybody.

Emma Mae’s into MMA.
She fucks around with the toughest kinds of folks.
Emma Mae’s into MMA.
She smacks fools while reciting awful jokes.

You stare at pretty Emma; as harmless as a flea!
That’s the way she looks if you don’t know her history.
She’s got her combat discipline that goes on back for years. She got the skills to make you ill. Enliven all your fears.

Emma Mae’s into MMA.
A girl the likes of which you’d love to flirt.
Emma Mae’s into MMA.
You’re walking straight into a world of hurt.

With barely any effort, she slaps upside your head.
Her fight technique repeatedly makes you wish that you were dead. She hits you with a kick. She kicks you with a hit.
You’re conquered while you drool over her tit.

Emma Mae’s into MMA.
She knows just how to make you feel impained.
Emma Mae’s into MMA.
With violence unrestrained she has been trained.

Little FiFi’s gonna die.
Look at that poor little Wiener Doodle rolling around in the grass, racing invisible particles wherever she smells them.
So care-free, so wide-eyed, our Little FiFi.
She doesn’t know, of course,
that her time is short.
That any day might be her last.

Oh, sweet FiFi:
enjoy these days as best you can.
Treasure your time
while you take your pleasure
free of pain,
ignorant of the future.

Sweet FiFi lives unaware of what is to come
unclear that there’s nothing to do
to avert her fatal fate
if she keeps barking like a jerk.