jonberger

I just heard
all about the party you had
without me.
It sounds
like it was a fucking good time.

I’m not sad
and I’m not angry
that I never received an invitation
– except I am both those things
as well as hurt
and confused about the nature
of our relationship.
I really thought I might merit an invite.

And clearly
I don’t get to decide who likes me
or who thinks I’ll be a good match
for the other guests
or who thinks I might
"eat too many chips"
or "clog up the toilet
for weeks to come."
I can’t control other people’s reactions
to me.
All I can do
is be the best me
I can be.
If that doesn’t match up
with your wants and needs,
then so be it.

And who am I
to be so concerned?
I mean,
I’m like the anti-Groucho.
I would never want
to go to a party
where I wasn’t wanted
– except vindictively.

It sounds
like I might have been miserable
at a place filled with folks
who didn’t want me there
or had reason to exclude me.
It is certainly
for the best
that I didn’t make the cut.

I’m glad it was a good time,
but I’ll bet
I probably had just as good a time
alone with my pudding pops.

Down Georgia way
a smoldering zine publisher
found a beautiful seamstress
and made love to her
(using the old definition
involving pitching woo
and moving in with her sisters).

He was honest with her
and she knew
he might never amount to much:
just some scofflaw
always getting into trouble
with the powers that be.
But he chose her
and she chose him
in turn.

And with further turns
of the season
they wed
and got closer
and their bond
was like none other he had ever had
until she died
and he realized
that love would not last
and peace could not satisfy
but power
and cruelty
in his hands just might.

As she used to cut cloth
he cut joy from his life
and turned into a thing of steel.

He died today
(two years ago
{but today
I did not remember}).

I am an awful son
who does not honor his father
as he should.

I would say
that I will do better
but I have little interest
in bearing false witness.

She doesn’t want to see me
anymore.
She’s made that quite clear
with words
gestures, court-mandated sessions…
I get it
finally.

It makes me wonder, though,
why she’s always
at my clubhouse.
She has her own places to be
where everybody knows her name.

I cannot imagine why she needs
my home away from home
as yet another locale
to add to her collection.
What is so special about my place
that makes her believe
she cannot be without it
when she knows it’s the easiest place
to take the poison that is me?

I’d definitely ask her
if she let me come near her
at any time at all.

You drive her home
but she’s in no hurry
to get out of the car
and that’s all right
because you didn’t much
want to say goodnight just yet
anyway.

You talk quietly.
You kiss softly.
You kiss some more
and she puts her hand on your chest,
asking, “Is there anywhere
we can go?”
You want to say “Upstairs.
We could go to your room.”
But you know full well
she’s got someone up there
and that wouldn’t work out.

“I don’t know
what’s still open at this hour,”
you reply, pretty damn sure
you’re not answering the question
she was asking.
“There might be a school,
or a park we could go to.”

Her eyes light up
at the last
and she says,
“There’s a park?”

“But they’re closed after hours,”
you walk back,
but her hand
still on your chest
is searching for a different response.
“Could we get in?”

You think about it
and you think of her
and her insane interest in you
and you wonder what is going on
and worry about getting arrested
if caught in a park
and what a great story it would be
but what about your record
and who would make bail –

And she kisses you again
and you forget your worries
for a moment
but it is just a moment
and soon after
she says goodnight
and goes upstairs to another
and you are left in your car
alone.

You head home yourself
and it is a good many hours
before you get any sleep.

Some days
when the seasons change,
the sun shines out
the birds sing beautifully
and the world seems full of opportunity.
All transitions are rife with potential
and everything looks like
it’ll be coming up roses
or reason will prevail
over the change of season.

Some days
you wake up
bounce out of bed
bursting with enthusiasm and expletives
about how amazing everything is,
how wonderful everyone is,
and how every single day is a blessing.

Some days
daylight is the crack of a book
you’ve been waiting to read for some time
and you can’t believe how lucky you are
to be here
no matter where “here” is.

Some days,
some days are just so goddamned great,
so who do I have to fuck,
fire or kill
to see one of those damned days again?

When you point at someone
three fingers point right back.
When you judge another
be prepared for a jury to let out
all over you.

I am sure
to be as abusive
to myself
as my soul will allow
so none other can judge me any harsher
than my own worst critic.

This leaves me safe
from your words
because I’ve already thought them.
You can surprise me
with no damnation;
that is my salvation.

And I have heard
occasionally from softer people
the thought that
I might perhaps be kinder to myself
and be less judgemental
but surely that is just their desire
to be let off the hook
for their own multitude of faults?

I prefer my tack.
I shall serve as the executor
of my own assessments
and be cruel to one and all
like the judge who joined the prisoner
behind bars
for the term
of his entire sentence.
That sentence was
“You’re guilty as fuck,”
and they stayed in that cell
forever
or maybe it just felt like that.

I have been waiting
for you to come back to me
for so long now.
I cannot imagine
why you would want to
but then again, I cannot imagine
what possessed me
to send you away in the first place.
I am a stupid person,
is what I am saying,
who lacks the creativity
to understand even the things he himself does
so I pray
that among the trillions of things
I cannot comprehend
one them is your forgiveness.

It should be obvious
that I am sorry
for your inadvertent exile
but in your absence
I can take nothing for granted
so I proffer every apology
you could come up with.
I miss you horribly
and need you back in my life.
You are the thing
that made me happiest
and I was a fool
to realize that so late.
If there is a way
you can return to me,
I prostrate, I beg,
I humbly ask
for you to do so
soon.

You were the best
but I was proud
and I was dumb
and I didn’t know how much I loved you
and if there is a way
for you, little blue blanket,
to come back into my world
to comfort me in the night
and never leave my side
I will be ecstatic.
I will be euphoric.
I will believe in everything again.
I don’t understand what possessed me
to remove you.
Come back.
I have been waiting
for so very long.

Seasons turn – I know all that.
I understand
that feelings change
and opinions can diametrically oppose
at the drop of a freaking hat.
I know that the warmest day
can, quite suddenly,
turn bone-chillingly cold.

I see how factors
well beyond our control
can cause a change in the weather
but it is also so
that there can sometimes be
man-made climate change
and the results of the day
are very easily predicted.

I don’t know precisely
how we got to this day
but I do not like it
and I pray
the sun’ll come out
tomorrow.

Several years before the fact
I wrote a poem
about the death of my favorite rocker
because I am a clever boy
and I wished to be prepared
for the likely eventuality.

On the day that it happened
however, I was wholly unprepared
for you
and everything available
involving your existence.
You threw me for a loop
and yet
after it went sour
I realized I had prepared for you
in all the many years
of passive-aggressive
whining and pathetic mumblings
that make up my entire oeuvre.

I hadn’t realized just how well
I had anticipated our entire arc
from early excitement
to final failure
from the very first.

I think
I would have been
an excellent Boy Scout.