jonberger

The plants and the snakes are
circling the trees,
circling the trees,
circling the trees.
The plants and the snakes are
circling the trees,
circling the trees all day.

The bunnies and the bugs are
watching them with glee,
watching them with glee,
watching them with glee.
The bunnies and the bugs are
watching them with glee,
watching them with glee all day.

The carrots and the cuties are
laying all the eggs,
laying all the eggs,
laying all the eggs.
The carrots and the cuties are
laying all the eggs,
laying all the eggs all day

while the bandits in the breeze are
beginning to beg,
beginning to beg,
beginning to beg.
The bandits in the breeze are
beginning to beg,
beginning to beg all day
(when will they stop?).

The cops and the clerics are
demanding some order,
demanding some order,
demanding some order.
The cops and the clerics are
demanding some order,
demanding some order right now.

Politicos and prezzies are
closing off the border,
closing off the border,
closing off the border.
Politicos and prezzies are
closing off the border,
closing off the border anyhow.

Refugee escapees are
coming through on skis,
coming through on skis,
coming through on skis.
Refugee escapees are
coming through on skis,
coming through on skis all day.

Families and people are
circling the trees,
circling the trees,
circling the trees.
Families and people are
circling the trees,
circling the trees all day.

I know I don’t deserve it
but you’ve got to give me another chance
to review your album.

Something went horribly wrong
while I was listening.
I don’t know what came over me
when I came up with the title
“Nazi Rapist Scores More Hate-Mongering Anthems,”
particularly for your debut release.
It was completely inappropriate.

I realize it was a children’s album.
I get that your base demographic is not hate speech enthusiasts.
I’m thankful you’re even considering that option.
Really, a couple of files must have gotten switched and –
look, please let me try again. I’m happy to start over.
I beg of you, let me review you with fresh ears
so I can provide a better quality assessment.

Just a new link so I can – thank you.
No, I need a new link that’s not – this is your sound?
Your music is like this…

Oh God.

You can’t play tic tac toe on your waffles
because of the syrup.
You can’t win tic tac toe
because of the unfair rules making people
too equally matched.

You can’t play Horse on a camel’s back
– too many bad memories,
The camel’ll just get jealous.
Nobody wants that.

You can’t dance on an angel’s pinhead.
Even asking the question
makes me wonder about you.
Do you even believe in pinheads, dude?

That’s enough questions for the day, I think.

In response, I just wanted to say that
you never understood me,
or who I was, or what I wanted to do.

It’s hard to believe you were my pediatrician
for twenty eight years, but consider this
my letter of resignation as your patient.

You were never my favorite doctor,
and I feel this is probably the right time to tell you
that I have been seeing the dentist on the side
for at least four years now.
Her bedside manner is much saltier than yours.

If I had one bit of advice
I could impart to you
before saying final farewells
and never speaking to each other ever again,
it’s that sugar free lollipops are not as great an incentive for good behavior
after you’re fourteen years old.
Just a word to the wise.

Please send all records to Doctor Sheila Riccardi, DDS.

I don’t often reread things,but when I have,
it’s proven fruitful.

I read Catcher in the Rye as a requirement in high school
and found Holden odious,
a spoiled brat who was just complaining about everything.

Then I read it the Summer after starting college,
having explored Salinger deeper,
and realized the sensitivity of his emotions,
how everybody feels pain,
and Caufield’s was sublime.

Then I read it near the end of college,
aware of the class struggle,
and assessed how unfair it was that this child of wealth
who had never earned a cent was all miserable
because his equally unworthy heir of a brother had died?
My empathy had disappeared.

All of this had happened over, tops, a five year span.
My understanding, my compassion,
dipped and dove and tumbled and swirled,
over and over,
and I loved and loathed the book,
back and forth,
depending on where I stood.

Were I to read it again,
I’m sure I’d have another opinion
or five.

Is it the quality of the book
or the multiplicity of my mind?

Yes.

You know, I can’t recall how we met.
It’s like I’ve always known you.
Well, not always, obviously.
We met in college – it was my third year.
But I can’t remember the circumstances.
I’m pretty sure you were down.
If I recall, you’d lost most of your support system,
but I don’t know why I was around.

Why were we talking?
Who was I to you?

I wish I had answers.
I guess you’ll provide them, eventually,
when you’re ready,
but I’m impatient.

School days were dumb days.
Drunk days. Foolish days.
School days were days of passion
days of adventure. Days of bare feet.
School days had too little sleep and too much sleet and often bare sheets.
School days are long gone.
I don’t miss them
and would wish them on everyone.

We used to speak much more comfortably
when we had something that bonded us.
That thing is sundered now
and our conversations flounder.

We speak short stunted sentences
with the strangers’ awkward pauses.
We once knew each other.
We once shared.

Now that our mutuality is buried
and we are widowed
this ache is all we have left.

Breaking the rules was a problem, of course,
but not the rules of the earth.
When she surpassed the speed limit
no one seemed to bat an eye,
but you burst out of a single mirror
in a brand new high rise
and they contact the authorities right away.

She suspected it was the fact
that she chose to haunt the state-of-the art
seventy-eight story structure that caused the commotion.
It’s expected out on dusky estates,
but gleaming spires?
That set the paranormal detectors
peeking behind curtains immediately.

She gave them her best:
a skeletal performance in a velvet gown,
playing a mournful violin.
She was see-through, unnaturally,
and when they tried to scream,
they found themselves with mouthfuls of thorns.

She laughed herself to sleep over the last.
It was a nice touch.

She had no association with the building.
She had no association with Manhattan, really.
She’d just always wanted to live there.
Since she hadn’t, she figured she might as well unlive there.
It was working out great so far.

The authorities were complaining, sure,
but she wasn’t having a problem with them.
If she found them too troublesome, she’d just move along.
Up to now, though, she was having the time of her death.

"Anger is an energy," John said, before he became an asshole,
before he had to devote his energy
to defending his wife
from her body,
before he changed
from what we loved
to what we loathe.

John is not the icon
we adore anymore.
John holds a different energy entirely now.
It is still an energy we need.
It is still an energy of anger.

It is bitter pill to swallow,
that he was right.