jonberger

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
which may prove problematic
for the apple seeds
seeking purchase in the ground
which offers all its nutrients
to the giant tree sucking them up.

The seeds
can only struggle in the shadow
of the tree,
soaking in all the sun,
leaving no rays but some kind of dappler effect
onto the ground
where the seeds can hope to receive them.

How can a new tree grow
in the wake of the already existing tree?
It’s hopeless
unless a bird
opts to fly the seed somewhere else
– hopefully some tree-uninfested land.

So the options become:
wither and die
beneath your parent
or pray
for a bird to swallow and shit you out
in a more hospitable place.
Jeez…

At least when Jesus’ dad fucked with him,
he could come back later
with the chance to flourish.

There was something
a thing I was going to say
but it seems to have escaped me.

It’s so annoying
when that phrase
that concept
that innovation
the thing that was scratching around
somewhere in your skull,
just on the tip of your tongue
will simply refuse to leave or lips
and enter the atmosphere
as expected.

It was such a strong theory
or belief
or argument,
I think.
Whatever it was I was thinking of
it was top-rate
and I am completely and unequivocally exasperated with myself for not being able
to bring it into the world.

I swear
as soon as I know whatever it was
I was talking about,
I’m gonna shout it out
and it’s gonna knock your socks off.

Your heart pumps.
Your blood rages.
Your eyes bulge
and your sinews cramp
but you continue through it all.

Your machine is working
at one hundred and three percent
which it can maintain
for only moments
which may not be enough time
to reach your goal.

Your brain struggles
to calculate whether accomplishment
is near
or if you’ll fail before the finish line.
You hope not.
You really want to arrive on time
and there won’t be another bus
for seventeen minutes.

Hey, hundred dollars
that I thought lost
on 97th Street
the other day,
but was really just hidden,
folded into my ones
so I didn’t realize I had you with me all along:
I’m ever so glad I found you,
but your temporary disappearance
has put me in a difficult position
with the City.

See, I cursed out the streets
for taking you from me
– which was clearly not the case –
and I don’t think I need to tell you, Benjamin,
the streets do not easily forgive.
New York City is a harsh mistress
and I have done her wrong
with my errant accusation.

I’m worried about the repercussions.
If the City finds out
I was incorrect
regarding my rude declaration of animosity,
she may not allow me
down her mean streets
or even let me out at all.

So I need your help, Hundo.
I know you’re Big Money and all
but if it’s possible
that we never speak of you
and hide you away
and pretend I never found you
and act as if I am in fact
one hundred dollars poorer
for all the rest of our days,
I would be very appreciative.
97th Street would never know of my mistake
and New York City may eventually let me off the hook.

What do you say?
Do you think you can keep quiet about this?
I know full well
just how much money talks
but I was hoping
just this once
it not be too loud.

I dream of my dead father
dying,
still.

The other night,
I was pushing a wagon,
surprised to see my dad
not yet dead
within the wagon.

I turn to my mom,
shocked, excited to inform her
that he wasn’t cremated after all
but was back in our lives
and, in fact,
was standing upright in the cart
balancing on one foot –
and then
there he was
on the ground
before the stopped device,
head shattered
urine-stained
encircled by blood and mucus
everywhere.

“Never mind,”
I muttered to mother,
in dream,
and woke up
a little disappointed
but really,
no worse off
that I was before.

Just a little unsettled
is all.

I am so fucking incensed
at the street
for taking that hundred dollars
that I know I had
while I was on 97th street
but seemed to have been relieved of
by the time I got into the drug store
to buy the drugs
I had gotten the hundred dollars out of the bank for.

What the fuck
was the street thinking?
Say I dropped it.
It’s not impossible.
I was making sure I had the money
so it’s certainly conceivable
that I failed to put it back in my pocket
and it got dropped on the street.
Why, then,
was the street not kind enough
to hold unto that cash
until I got back?
Is that really so much to ask, 97th Street?
I mean, really?!

Whatever, street.
I’m not looking out for your anymore.
Next time I see someone pissing on you
or throwing up
or dropping some trash on an area where it won’t get picked up, I’m just leaving that shit alone.

Eat a dick,
Upper West Side.
All of you.

Gavrilo Princip was an incompetent.
He was charged
by the Black Hand
with killing the Archduke
but he’d already mucked it up once that day
due to that aforementioned incompetence.

He was unprepared for the job at hand
and had previously failed in his mandate.
He would never be well-known
as he is now
if not for luck.
Had not Ferdinand’s staff
first gotten lost
and then chunked the car,
Princip would never have gotten
his second chance
to kill a dude
and gotten all of us throat deep
into the Great War
one of the most violent affairs
all of Europe had attended to.

Chance has a great role
in many atrocities.
Just as it helped Princip
fulfilled his goals,
chance brought you before me
twice that week,
giving me the opportunity
right after notice
to commit us both
to many cataclysms to come.

When we kill the rich
and their fat asses and gold suspenders
are holding up the wall
and we are readying them
for the firing squad
please remember
that I was one of you all along.

I was the proletariat.
I was a worker drone.
I was one of the unwashed
the dirty
the unconsidered.
I was part of the wretched majority.

Sure, I may have spoken better
than most of you
and lived better
and had an education
at one of the elite institutions
– or maybe three of them –
but I never lorded it over you.
I always behaved
as if you
– all of you –
were no better than me.
I.
Me?

Please keep this in mind
when we sort out
all the heroes and villains
and be sure to recall
I gave to bums
at least once or twice.

If you find
that your stock has grown low
and you no longer have enough
to provide to your customers
there is no shame
in admitting this.

If you don’t have anything
that will satisfy
the line around the block
then there is an awkward conversation to come
but once you tell them
there’s nothing to see here
they will just go home
and it will be all over.

There is no reason to keep them
in suspense.
There is no reason
to belabor the obvious.
There is no reason
not to close your doors
when you have nothing left.

They will appreciate it probably
after they’re done cursing you out
for wasting their precious time.

She sang a song about Anchorage
but it wasn’t “Anchorage,”
by Michelle Shocked
so what’s the point?

It was pleasant enough,
a good melody
a good voice
but it wasn’t life changing.
It wasn’t apocryphal.
It wasn’t a song that would stay
with you
in you
around your head
for all your days
like an old friend
that you can fondly recall
or a weight
that keeps you in place.

Her song was all right
but it was no “Anchorage.”