jonberger

The poetess said, “My art will outlast me.”
Another poetess said, “Print the book. Only the page will last.”
I think about them both.
The spoken word will less likely last, since only the particular artist will pass on that art.
With so many practitioners, it’s doubtful that anyone will be memorizing others’ spoken word.
And the way society is going, the likelihood of our saved digital record
is getting smaller and smaller and smaller.
Electronics requires a shared common culture
built on trust. That’s going the way of the dodo.

Perhaps printed copies of books will last,
but with our culture of planned obsolescence,
the quality of print that we have now
will not last long at all.

The art that we create today
will not long outlive us
unless we make outrageous plans
for its posterity.

Does anyone have something in mind?

Haven’t seen a raccoon in my neighborhood for decades.
Not quite sure how to measure that.
When I moved in twenty plus years ago
I’d see a beady-eyed monster
every now and again.
I was shocked.
“Raccoons don’t belong in New York City,” I thought,
but the evidence proved me wrong.

Now, though further history has proved my thought
more like I thought.
I haven’t seen hide nor hair of a critter
except on a Marvel screen
in quite some time.
Not sure how to measure that, either.

Is the neighborhood on the upswing?
Downswing? Midswing? Spincycle?
Just don’t know.

Further and further
sepia you telescope way
at a speed that seems regular,
like you are riding,
but you do not ride.
I see your legs are not moving.
Perhaps you are being bicycled?

Why are you trying to escape me?
What have I done?
You say nothing.
You look like you want us to connect
but you’re saying nothing
and I’m saying nothing.

Neither of us want to admit too much,
I guess.
Still afraid of being hurt, probably.
Maybe that’s why you’re running away
– or being run away
(Who would be taking you away?).

Who would be taking you away?

The crack of my back was a good sign.
I could hear it after she pressed weight down upon me
but I could usually tell when something was done
after I expressed my own sentiment,
inadvertently.
When I violently exhaled, I knew the chiropractic had done its magic.

I went pretty religiously for a few years there,
back when my back was bothering me
on the regular.
In the early aughts,
my spine was all kinds
of out of sorts
and only consistent back-breaking
held me together.

I had several chiropractors,
based on where I worked or was living,
and when insurance finally fell through,
I had to give up that high life.

It helped me immeasurably
for that while, though,
until my back healed itself
and I became the picture of health I am today.

While moving and grooving through Seussity Hills,
a whimpering beasty had Whompity thrills.
He found some young ladies who had lovely hairs
so he went up behind them and pulled upon theirs.

Now that wasn’t cool out in Seussity Hills,
nor the Corporated Township of Geiselted Mills,
within which the Hills were quite well positioned
and the whimpering beasty had been decommissioned.

The beasty, a boy once of fine good repute
had begun one who’d be game to cause a dispute
so he’d take someone’s candy right out of their box
or he’d call peoples’ names or pull at girls’ locks.

So the coppers, a pair of good-doers two,
came out for the beasty to take him in, over do.
They whirled out of Cop-Bank, and they were not late.
Their names were Cop Seven and their pal, Cop Eight.

These authorities came to bring said beasty in
for the crime of behaving in ways so like sin
so they grabbed on the hands that had grabbed on the gals,
Thus the beasty was carried by the two cop pals.

To Geiselted Cop-Bank the three of them went
and into the slammer the beasty was sent.
His name was recorded for everyone to hear:
“Behind bars shall go one Sir Gullivar Salzyir.”

The shame for Sir Gullivar was within bounds.
This wasn’t his first time being placed with the hounds
nor the last, he suspected, hearing bar-ringing sounds.
He just took it in stride; he’d soon be buying all rounds!

“Cop Eight, Cop Seven!” he said to the guards,
“will there be a chance to go walk in the yards?
For I’ve not yet had a chance to stretch legs.
Help a bro out? Oh, do be good eggs.”

The officers saw little reason to dissent,
since Salzyir had tipped them well, they were for rent
so they followed his orders and did what he bid
and he went to the yard and out of jail he slid.

So to Suessity Hills went Gullivar, ho!
Quick as a wink back to crime did he go!
To harrass young women was all that he planned.
Back to bother Samantha. Off to poke at Sweet Ann!

Perhaps there’s a lesson to find in the Mills
of the Geiselted sort there in Seussity Hills.
Maybe you can say that corruption is bad
but if you learned it here, I must say, that’s quite sad.

Content with how things had gone,
the guide double-backed to the beginning of the tour
and restarted the process of going through with a new group.

"Pleasure to meet you guys," she said,
"Let me show you around.
"As the first and foremost Museum of Broken Time,
let me show you some of these displays of locations
where time has stopped.

"Either places that refused to accept the passing of time,
pumped the brakes on current events when it didn’t suit them,
or tried to turn back the clock if it felt necessary."

She passed Fifties’ America, then nodded to current day Iran
and pointed over to an adjacent Afghanistan display.
They were all life-sized and, frankly, terrifying.

"You can enter each display, but be sure to have your pass with you,
so you can enter and exit as you see fit.
"No one wants to be trapped within one of these areas,
no matter how enlightened the era thinks they might be."

She glanced over at the small Grunge resurgence module
that the American Teens made necessary. Shaking her head,
the guide moved on.

"Many eras get considered for recreations, but Broken Time tends to
work on larger scale periods. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?"
Her crowd was shocked and amazed by what was available.
This was usual. She could wait for them to come into their own.
She thought she might take them back to Fifties’ America,
but thought better of it, considering the number of minorities in the group.

She could wait until they came to their own decisions.

Oh, my engagement ring?
It’s on my other hand.
In my other car.
It must have slipped my mind.
<Heh.>
I’m not really engaged, you know. Just kind of meta-engaged.
It’s an engagement of the mind, not the body, you know?

I guess I forgot to mention it.
It didn’t cross my mind.
I thought we were both engaged.
Weren’t we on a pre-married dating site?

I saw you and I couldn’t help myself.
I just figured the rules didn’t apply for people like us.
This? Between us? It was too important. I had to see how it would play out.

Oh, am I engaged? I didn’t realize!

We see what the will has said.
Now, we just need to verify
that she has the stuff
that she offered up in the will.

You can have the figurines?
We just need to make sure the figurines still exist.
You want the car?
Does the car still work?

The money’s in the account, sure,
but we have to make sure the creditor’s are paid first.
You get the idea.
We got to make sure
we can get your what you’re due
according to Sue’s wishes
– once Sue’s estate is resolved.

This may take a few months
or a year.

We’ll get back to you.

I am the wall.
I get hit by the ball.
I have a friend Paul.
who once smoked Pall Malls.

He’d stand up by me
just to stare at all the
neighborhood ladies
over at the marquee.

We had these great years
standing right here,
me and my friend
for days without end.

Now Paul’s gone away.
He left without saying.
I have remained
but I don’t complain

for I’m made of brick
and I don’t get sick.
I’m not bothered at all.
I’m just a wall.

In the center of the forest,
if a forest can have a center,
the grand tree rests.
Some days it towers
some days it judges
but today it rests.
It will let others handle the duties of the day:
funneling water to the fauna below,
letting leaves float down,
watching the affairs of the moss,
It is old.
There are days to take off.

It doesn’t notice as the human stumbles over,
looking every which way,
seeking some sense of order in the covered forest.
The tree pays little attention to the human
and vice versa,
even as the human sits down on its trunk
even as the human collapses and faints.

When the human awakens,
the tree takes little notice.
Fauna makes minor difference to the tree.
The human screams and cries
and throws itself upon the tree,
perhaps praying to it,
perhaps trying to destroy it.
The tree neither understands
nor cares.
Liquids escape the human,
some solids, too.

Eventually, the human leaves.
It will not go far,
but it will enrich the forest,
so that is good.

The grand tree remains,
and it will take
a different role
in the actions of the wood.
Today it simply rests.