jonberger

When you finally come
you’ll be sorry that you missed
the Velvet Underground cover
from the pretty young girl
even though it wasn’t actually a VU cover.
It was a Jackson Browne song.
You might have found that funny
were you here to hear it.

I can’t wait for you to arrive
I’m hoping against hope that it’s soon
but just as much question
whether I’ll ever see you again.
So much rides on hopes and imagination
and false reads of information
and I keep looking at the door
waiting to see your silhouette
but instead see nothing
but evidence of your absence.

There is a giant Jean-sized hole in the room
that I just know you can plug.
You can fill me, too,
if you ever actually get around
to getting here.

There is a writer
in the MTA’s Poetry in Motion program
(where the city provides
the huddled masses
a little bit of literature
to get them through
the trip to work)
whose birthdate is in a later decade than mine.
She is my junior
and she has her work heralded
on train after train in this,
the greatest of cities.
I have nothing.

What has she done
that I haven’t
to deserve such an honor,
other than submit to publications,
make her work known,
work in the field,
lead seminars
and live the life of a poet?
Why can’t I have
what she has?

Her poem
is pretty good,
if you like that sort of thing.

When we dance
you should take the lead.
I don’t know how to move well with others.
I seem to lack that particular grace
which you have it in abundance.
It’s one of the things
I like so much about you.

You must tell me what to do
how to treat you
what to say to make you happy,
to make you believe
that you want me near you,
a thing I doubt
with great frequency
and greater enthusiasm.
You could train me.
You should explain to me
just what you need
so that I can be part of it.

When we are out amongst others
give me the context to understand
how I should appear:
servile or strong,
aloof or argumentative
(though probably not argumentative.
That was a kinda dumb suggestion).
What should I be?
What should I do?

When we dance.
I want to do it right.
Show me how.

To the cutie patootie whose cleavage
I decidedly did not ogle on Avenue A:
I’m sorry I ogled your cleavage
over there on Avenue A.
In my defense,
that was only one of your features
I was appreciating
as we passed each other.
It just happened to be the features
I was staring deep into
when you caught me.

They were amazing breasts,
by the way.

But I want you to understand
that it was the whole package
that I found so delightful:
the short skirt
the toned legs
the nervous wince as you noticed my mouth watering display.

I thought your haircut
was quite fetching, too.

And there was no need to cover up
your tight top,
you know.
I was totally incapable of seeing anything inappropriate,
I can assure you.

I’m sorry I made
such a mixed impression
just now on Avenue A.
Please know that I consider you
with only the highest regard
and will be thinking of you tonight
and for many more nights to come.

Sorry. I can’t go for that.
I don’t fault you for your choices
but all of that kind of shit
is behind me now.
You spend your weekends and nights
however you choose
but my stalking days are over.

I’m gonna give your plans a skip,
thank you very much.
I’ve gone on to healthier pursuits,
finding more natural ways to behave
with a better quality of people.
No longer do I don the trench coat,
fedora and Groucho glasses
to follow the streets she might walk.
That’s past tense me,
and not at all what I’m up to today.

You should take my advice
and drop that sort
of unsavory behavior.
Turn over a new leaf
and not turn to old tricks.
Better that you follow my example
than follow any other people.
Be like me
and stop stalking sooner
rather than later.

No, I’m not mandating this.
I’m not your judge nor jury
and you needn’t execute any of my suggestions
but before any of those august parties get involved
you’d do well and turn a corner
– just not the one she so recently took.

Hey. HEY!
Don’t look around
but pay attention:
this is important.
I come from the future
in the midst of The Time Travel Endeavors
and you
you’re the one that’s finally gonna come up with
the important technology
that finally gets us able
to go forward in time
– more than a minute at a time.
After that, the other stuff
gets real easy.

Yeah, it’s pretty great.

So, obviously,
I wanted to meet you
since you’re such a vital part
if our future.
But, well,
you ever see Terminator?
The first one.
So, yeah…
there’s a catch.

If you don’t do…
the secret thing you’ve got do
(I can’t go into details),
It all goes to hell.
So you’ve got to stay the course, man.
You have to keep doing
what you’re doing
or else you’ll never have
that important discovery
that makes everything else happen
like dominos in your wedding cake.

What? Oh, dominos!
That’s an important practice when I come from.
You’ll get to experience it eventually.

Otherwise, one of your competitors
with the warring technologies
(Like fried Walrus bone travel),
she’ll get ahead
and we will never get to when it’s really cool.
Just keep up the studies.
Take Physics 301,
and absolutely, positively
stay with the Purity Club,
and – are you listening?

Yea, I guess, she’s pretty
but don’t talk to her.
Yeah, I guess she is pretty hot
but
No. NO!
Oh, well.
That’s it.
Future’s gone.
Better luck next time, I guess.

Ha!
hey, time.
Get it?

The sun is out and the sky is great.
I’m waking up early after staying up late.
Everything’s improving exponentially
and I can’t help but be happy – temporarily.

I’m starting all smiles. Snide comments are nary
and existence is seeming extraordinary.
But in my heart’s mind, I know it can’t stay.
In the click of a lens it’ll all go away.

I’m temporarily giddy cuz life is sweet
and savored like a seasoned section of meat.
I’m temporarily giddy and it came on so fast.
It stands to reason it couldn’t last.

On a joyous voyage for groceries
I excitedly spy for items to seize.
The apples are dappled; the grapefruit sun-kissed.
Everything’s great cuz I’m an optimist.

But this mood any minute can gallop and go.
I can’t just stay happy on my own say-so!
It’s all so transient; in a day or an hour
you can bet bottom dollar I’m gonna get sour.

Temporary giddiness? The order of the day.
I’m temporarily giddy. What else can I say?
But though at the moment I’m nothing but grins
I know any time I’ll be frowning again.

It comes and it goes; it goes and it comes.
My joy is dependent, like dollars to bums.
Like most cis red-blooded boys in the world,
my humors will fluctuate based on a girl.

A smile from a babe can make me all smiles
but a stern word from her makes it go for a while.
I know when she’s happy I’m in a good state
until I trudge home from the third date.

I’m temporarily giddy, when at my best.
At the moment: ecstatic. Later: a wretch.
Like a roll of the dice, I win when I’m hot.
Yeah, I’m temporarily giddy – until I’m not.

Your bio says you love me
but I don’t think you do.
Not how it counts.
Not like I love you.
And I do love you
though the way I do
is constrained, defined
like the way you may love, too.

Your love is discriminating.
You care for me, perhaps,
but not as an individual,
not as a semi-virile man.
Your love is a theoretical love
a kind love
a love you can share with fans,
friends and fellow artists.
It is not something
that sets the object of love
apart from anyone else in existence.

Don’t get me wrong:
I appreciate anything I can get from you
or your bio
and will devour whatever love you provide.
But I suspect
when you see how completely
I consume your compassion,
you will be more tentative
with what you’re willing to offer next.

These socks don’t match
– each other or my pants.
I don’t know what I’m wearing
where I’m going
whom I’m doing.
It’s a strange day in a strange week
and I don’t know what’s coming next.
Is my hair OK?

I don’t know what to say anymore.
If you’re gone for good
I really don’t know what I’ll do.
I can’t see what’s next.
It’s a little inconceivable
you see
that you might not be near me
it makes me hesitate while drawing
breath.

It’s not like we owe each other anything
or I have any excuse
to know where you are
but when I don’t
I get all out of sorts.
I lose parts of myself
when I have no sense of you.

I wish you could fix this.
I wish you could keep me in the loop
but of course,
if you did
there would be no issue
to begin with.

Eventually, I realized,
I got it wrong.

When I was a kid
and suspected that the universe
simply ceased to exist
the moment I left a room,
that everything just blinked out
when I was unavailable to experience it?
That, apparently,
was an error on my part.

It is not the world that stops
when I exit,
but rather, quite the opposite.

I guess you all could have told me
how dependent I was on you
to continue my own existence,
but why would I have believed you?
What could have possibly made me
accept that
the minute anyone left me to my own devices
I would slow and stutter
and soon become nothing at all?

I survive only as a reflection of others.
I have no purpose
if you’re not around.
I wish I knew that
earlier in this life
but it’s good to know at all, I suppose
and anyway,
how different is that
from the rest of the pack?

We all are reflections
of our loved ones
and without them
we are diminished
to the point of nothingness, no?

Or is that just me?