jonberger

At the first funeral I’ve attended
since my father’s
I took some mental notes
as to how to host such an event.

More jokes
Less ice cream
Express more grief
in the presence of well-heeled young ladies
seeking to offer comfort.
No hospitalizations.

I found the service I attended today
a bit too catholic for my tastes
(and probably my father’s)
so I would probably keep
religiousoisty to a bare minimum.
A couple of hosannas
and get out of there.

Keep solemnity away,
as the event
should be a celebration of a life
not a mourning for its end.
There can be joy in the room
even at the grave site.

Most important, I thought:
someone should make a point
to provide a history of the deceased
so everyone who knew him, her or it
could be offered the whole context of a life
not just the parts they experienced themselves.

I failed you there, Dad
but maybe I’ll get it right
next time around.

The food-line is simply interminable.
So many oldsters plodding along,
with their canes and walkers
and prescribed short-sightedness,
perusing each buffet option
with reckless gravity
– this may take a lifetime.
You’d think they’d have all lost their appetites
or perhaps forgotten about them
with all this time on line.

I know it’s a solemn period
a literal once-in-a-lifetime event
but could the geriatrics get this food
and get out of my way
so I can cruise the buffet?

I just wish the grieving
after the service
could more quickly get to their seats
and their sorrowful eating
so I can get my hands on the grub
and then finally eat in peace.

The multiplex
isn’t the multiplex no more.
There’s a sign on that abandoned lot
that the land’s for sale.
Weeds sprout all around it.
Things have changed hereabouts.

Do you remember
when our parents would drive us down there
for the day?
We’d pay for some kiddie film
in the early afternoon
and then make a day of it?
Running from one flick to the next,
seeing the end of An American Tail
then hitting Fish Tales Three
and checking out half of
the R-Rated Whale Tale
before getting kicked out of the theater.

That was more fun than the films we saw,
the sneaking and sliding,
exploring the hide and seek of it all.
I mean,
the movies were cool, too
back then.
Maybe better than today.

Maybe that’s why the place is closed:
too many folks going to multiple movies
at the multiplex
could’ve shut down the whole deal.
Damn.
Too late now.

Everything I am trying to do
would have been so much easier
had I been more honest up front.

I wouldn’t have to make excuses
to keep running into you
if I had asked us to run together
that first time
when it was in fact
right on the tip of my tongue.
I had no faith in your response, though,
so instead,
I continue to search for reasons
to be in your orbit.

However, had I told you
about my penile disorder,
you probably would have been uninterested
in letting me circle round you
for very long.

But if you knew about the number and scale
of my bank account
and my willingness to share with the right sort
you might be yourself willing
to explore my unsaid feelings
a little further.

On the other hand
if you knew about the number of ladies
who have been left
hurt, humiliated, and hungry
at the end of a lunch with me
you’d probably dash away.

Either way, the utmost honesty
would have left us with answers
to questions
at least some of us
continue to ask.

I’m not fine.
I’m livid.
I burn with the hate of a hundred unemployed bigots.
I am ready to tear shit up
but there’s no good in showing that.
I keep a calm face
for if everyone sees my inner turmoil,
I lose power.
I lose control.

The placid mask I wear
protects me
and others
from my rage.
No one need know
what stirs within
until I am ready
to express it
as loudly and violently
as I choose.

Until then
my anger stays deep within
as I plot and plod
ever closer
to the specific avenue of expression
I will finally take.

I’m so hungry I could eat a meal.
I’m so thirsty, water looks good to me.
I’m as tired as a unionized employee
with contract-scheduled breaks throughout her workday
at the end of an extended shift.

I haven’t had a bite to eat
in four hours
I could have danced for no more than three
I haven’t had this much fun in two
and I could nap for one – figuratively.

This song is the best
since the last one I very much enjoyed.
I could listen to it for six repetitions
before getting bored of it.
I love that song so much
I would marry someone who liked it
assuming she was also physically pleasing
and had a certain number of material possessions.

That show was so good
I could lay down right now
and tell people about it
for what would seem an incessant amount of time.

I can literally think of nothing else to say.

My mother
(years back)
was hoping for a litter of kids
but Dad jewed her down
to just the one.

He explained
(in later years)
that he wasn’t really interested
in a family at all
until I was born
at which point he said
he changed his mind.

I took little comfort
in his updated opinion
alleged as it was.
A revelation when first holding a baby
seemed too much a sitcom reaction
and he was more
of the science channel sort.

Maybe he saw something
in the wonder of biology at my birth
which made him appreciate my coming into the world
as an intellectual exercise?
I always questioned
his self-described emotional breakthrough.

It’s not something we discuss much now.

He seemed to appreciate me
(in recent years)
when I could run errands for him
and help explain more complex issues.
He would say he loved me
with greater frequency.

I never forgot the origin story, though,
and the discussions
about how he had to be convinced
to bring me around at all.

I admit, I have grown tired of you
and I have found another
but really, you only have yourself to blame.
You shouldn’t have let me see
those albums from your college years
when you were so lithe and slutty.
It is hard to look at you now
with all that much passion
when I see what you once were.

You should have known
I could never love you now
if I had known about you then.
I’m sorry
that the bloom is off the rose,
Marie, but I can’t see you anymore.

You should find someone new,
someone who can love you
the way you are
who doesn’t mind the stretch marks
and the laugh lines
and natural hair color changes.
Find the man
who will happily give you a family
and as you age and atrophy
and fatten from child after child
send me a Christmas card
when your daughters come of age.

The crazy lady outside my cafe
is screaming
"What are you looking at?"
when the answer
for practically everyone
in the outside seating area,
is "you, crazy lady!"

She wants her meds
I think
or anybody’s meds.
It’s hard to tell what’s going on
as her shouts sometimes go sub audio.
Her friend is trying to calm her down
and the staff are trying to get her out
of their customers’ line of sight.
The authorities are trying to get to the scene
if the siren is any indication.

The poor crazy lady is so upset
but it’s getting hard
to hear my podcast
so I gotta go.

I just can’t.
I don’t have it in me anymore.
I am unable
to go on
at the pace
I wish to.
It is time
to slow down.

I must be more careful.
I must be more thoughtful.
I can no longer eat while I walk
without choking
and staining my shirt.
I have to do things
with more damned restraint.

I don’t want to.
This is not the person
I ever intended to be
but this might be exactly the activity
my body requires of me.
I am not capable
the way I once was
of powering through.
I have to take it easy.
I have to take it down a notch.
I have to take it one day at a time.
I have to take a nap.