jonberger

I’m not sure you knew back then
just how much I liked you.
I mean, sure, we got along fine
with all my coincidental visits to the lab
when you so happened to be on duty
and all the evenings you happened to want to borrow some book of mine and ended up at my dorm for the rest of the night
but I don’t think you got
just how much I invested in you during those too short months, too many years ago.

I thought you were the bees’ knees
but I never said anything of the kind.
I treated you like a college kid
– like a college kid treats
another college kid.
I should’ve been kinder
I should’ve been honest.
I should’ve told you how I felt.
I should’ve remembered your full name.

I’m beginning to suspect
that the poem you liked so much
might not have meant
exactly what you thought it did.
Based on our conversation
I think you assume
that there is some psychosexual element in what I wrote
that really was not intended.

In fact, if you think about it,
it would be kind of impossible
to be read the way you said.
Like, say, in Stanza Four?
I wrote “no shit,”
so it couldn’t really be about anal.

And I want to be clear about this:
despite your opinions
there is no references to white power ideology
in anything that I write.
Ever.

I’m all for active interpretation
by the reader,
and I know that,
upon publication,
the artist has to give the work up
to the world.
But I have to be clear here
that what you’re saying
for my poem makes no fucking sense.

Yes,
you can still have my autograph.

Some champagne corks
ricochet more than others.

Her tights read Do What You Love
so I tried to do her.

I walked into a door knob
twice.

I’m really bad with makeup.
I’m really big into pandas.
I’ve got really big balls
that bounced up
while running naked.

Some big bully asked shouted
“Anybody want a black eye?”
but I thought he said “black guy”
so I asked for two.

You said you liked to dance
but I sensed the anxiety.
I got that you weren’t ready
though I was so excited
to experience you in action.

I get that you’re scared
or unprepared
but I’m ready and raring to go.
And I’m not worried about your fears
or dysfunctions
or difficulties in general.
All I care about
right now
is if you’re at last
ready to dance.
I hope you dance.

When you dance like you do,
fever-filled and furious,
it shocks me back into life
and supplements my spirit.
I know how it will be,
never having see astep.
I am serious.
I am ready for you

though if you’re afraid,
if your anxious
we can simply stay in the back
and dance alone
just we two.
Any way that’s all right with you:
let’s dance.

You get it, right?
I had to find some way
for us to begin.
I had to deceive
or we could never have been delivered.

The lie was worth it
wasn’t it?
I told you a compelling story
and it got me in the door
and we had a lot of fun
and a lot of drinks
and a lot of talk of diets
that, turns out,
we lied about, too.
It worked out,
didn’t it?

And sure,
I stretched the truth
at a couple of vital intersections.
I was never a lawyer per se
or had an income to speak of
but I got you to live life
in a variety of interesting ways
didn’t I?
Remember the soccer field at night
with the circles?

So it’s not so bad.
You weren’t tricked
so much as massaged
into understanding certain parts of my past
and not others.
It’s all worked out so far
and it may even work
in the long run
if you can just keep quiet
til after we reach the border.

There was a second story
that I wanted to tell you
but it seems to be
at present
escaping me.
I am at a loss
as to what it was
that just a moment ago
seemed so important
that it couldn’t wait.
I needed you to know about…
my ankle?
My first pet?
Was it about the coed that once smiled at me?
I’m sure
I told you about that one already.

It seems like
you might have heard all my stories
good and bad
interesting and
less interesting.
I think you know my punchlines
my turns of phrase
the ways I might
zag to the zig of a conclusion.
I might be out of experiences
to inform you of.

Did I tell you about Paris?
Penelope?
How I loved the Poseidon Adventure?
What could be possibly left to say?

Maybe it’s time
to stop retelling the past
and begin living out some new adventures
of our own
if you’d be so willing
to do so with me.
If so
I think I might know
the next tale I could tell.

Most adventures
when completed
end up being fairly boring:
"I had some trouble at work
but I’m all right now"
or "I thought I had pneumonia
but it turned out I was just allergic
to stupidity."

Someone once said
while talking about the state of stories
that nothing ever ends
which means
that finding the tale
is about telling only the part
that attracts interest.
Who?
Some comic book writer you’d hate
I’d wager.

Anyhow,
recently I thought I might be killed
but I wasn’t
because nothing was really wrong
and I misunderstood his accent.
So
crisis averted.

May I have another scone?

Daily, my leg improves.
Last week, I was hobbly and damaged
and feared for my life.
This week,
none can tell of my disability
unless I bring it up.

At this rate
my leg may attain godhead
within a month
and begin performing miracles
soon after.

If you want to get ahead of the curve
you should probably
begin currying favor
with my leg
yesterday.

Draw for me.
I have stories to tell
and I hope you can make them live.

Sing with me.
Help me harmonize
and become more in touch
with the world around me.

Dance near me.
Let us stretch and shine
and sweat together
grooving to a rhythm we share
with all the others around us
even if we’re alone.

Run to me.
Race from our disparate locations
to a central destination
where we can be together again
for as long as you allow.

Love at me.

Live.

Look, I get that you’re having a good time
and this is definitely the place for that
and nobody likes a party more than me
except maybe Davis Hilldale
founder of the Party Party
(who once, for a political fundraiser,
hosted the Party Party Party),
but maybe
while I’m reading poetry
you could shut the fuck up?

I mean, sure,
everyone has a right to express themselves,
but this place, it’s got a sound system,
which means someone paid
for the equipment
to allow certain people to speak
or sing or whatever
at a greater volume than the crowd
– who is you.
I’m here talking
because somebody invited me to.
Who invited you?

Sure, there’s no need for you
to feel so constrained
by my performance.
You don’t have to sit here and take it.
You could go to the literally
every other place in the world
where no one is on stage
reading poetry for people who want to hear it.

Check all those places out.
You can talk as loud as you want there.
Tell me how it goes
and if you run into Davis,
tell him he has my vote.