jonberger

The waiter came back with the order
of six pieces of bacon
three inches thick
and more like small steaks
than we could have imagined.
“Jesus Christ, that’s good,”
she said, while I continued
nodding, chewing and drooling
all at once.

Later
the butter-drenched steak
was zealously devoured
though we saved room
for the cheesecake.
It was a big meal

and a long one.
We’d entered the place on Friday
but didn’t get the car back
until Saturday
at which point we forgot to tip the valet.
Next time, maybe.

On the way home
we might have hit a vagrant
or possibly a few.
All told
it was a good day
for two bad Jews.

We have to talk about the boy.
Things are not going well with him.
I’d always assumed
he’d be the best of both of us:
My speed and your charm.
Your will and my wiles.
Both of our intense beauty.
I thought a glorious beast
would be formed
from our constituent parts.

Instead, we’ve built a frightened rabbit
anxious and uncomfortable
under every experience he’s uncovered.
He is weak and weird,
wired and wonky
in all the worst ways.

I don’t know whose fault this is:
Was yours a defective egg?
Did I provide some bad jizz that day?
Perhaps God saw our potential,
was threatened by the possibilities,
and had to throw a spanner in the works.
Maybe the boy simply chose to be
this mutant mongrel.

Answers are beyond me.
I just know
that we did the best we could
with what we had
but what we have
as a result?
I am quite disappointed.
Can we scrap that model
and start over from scratch?

Reconsider me.
I may look like a member of the pack
but I am not.
I’m something else again.
I don’t know what I can do
to convince you
that I’m a different sort of beast.
How should I try?

Words are always worth a shot.
I am not the kind of creature
you have met before
over and over
to diminished effect
one of those boys who treats you cold
after stealing your warmth.

I am uncommon.
Rare.
I’m not suggested that I am so superior
but you needn’t be indifferent to me
because you’ve been burned before
by those bad Joes.

I want you to know
that I care
and I do not lie
and I do not cheat.
I will fight for you
but try not to fight you.
I am not what you’ve seen before.

I can’t see
how to convince you of this
– any of it –
without showing
how I’m willing to give you
all the space you need
which is the last thing I want to do.

So maybe I do lie
a little.
Is there a way, then,
that I could lie
with you?

Looking over her shoulder
in the cafe
I saw what she jotted
into her unlined notebook:
“You
do not exist.”

I didn’t know
if the note was for me
for herself
or someone else
who might be spying on her words
(and her cleavage).

I didn’t know much
I realized.
I was sure
only of my doubt.
Did I even like her cleavage
as much as I thought I did?

Soon afterwards
I didn’t
do much of anything
anymore.

That romantic piece of shit poem
I wrote you
to get us into bed?
The one that sounds like a country song
all treacly and moist
informing you how I’d never give you up
or desert you?
That crap
that seemed to define all of our early days?
Yeah, I believe it now.
I believe it all.
I’ve got that olde thyme religion
and it’s a faith in love
– in you.

I don’t know when it happened
but it might have been
when you twisted your hair
around your wedding finger
right after I asked you to dance.
We never got to it, but
I could tell you wanted to
and whatever was twisting in your head
made me realize
that all the things I’d claimed
to get near to you
were all probably true.
Most of it, maybe
Certainly some.

I’ve been watching Lifetime movies
and thinking about us.
I’ve been hearing pop ballads
and quietly weeping.
I’ve gone into funks
when you don’t call me back
and I’m – me! –
I’m thinking of our future.

Something’s happened to me, baby;
you didn’t do it
but it sure seems like
you’re pretty involved.
I hope we stay involved
for some time to come
so my heart can go on.

It was great to meet you last week
what with your charm and beauty and willful ways.
I have been thinking about you
quite a bit
since that golden age of yesterday.

I find you beguiling.
I find you educational.
I find you an inspiration
and, rest assured,
you’ve inspired me to write a thousand odes.

I’m making bad poetry over you.
I’ll write about everything you do.
Think you’ve got my attention? You haven’t got a clue.
I’ll write all the bad poetry over you.

I’ve been looking up all the words
that rhyme with “splendiferous,”
so I can best catalog the thoughts I have
when I think about you.
I’ve even drafted some lines for Opus Alexandra,
Number One.
Here’s the start:
“Your lips painted red
a fresh blood swath
across your shimmering white face…”

That’s the stuff!
That’ll prove my love.

Well, love might not be the exact right word
for what we share.
Maybe it’s lust
or limerence
or looting the booty.
Either way
I’ve got a lot to say
about what I think about you
and you’re gonna hear it
every week at the open mics
for many a month to come.

I’m building a slam book all about you
listing all the ways you make me happy and blue.
If there was someone else I wanted to be writing to
I wouldn’t have all these bad poems for you.

I’ve got eight jillion bad poems written for you.
If you’re nice to me you’ll hear some of them, it’s true.
If I get sad, that day you will rue
cuz then I’ll unleash all the bad poems ’bout you.

When we were in the jury pool
you sat next to me
which was damned convenient
since I’d stared agape an hour earlier
or maybe it was because of it.
Maybe you recognized
the first time ever I saw your face
and saw in my appreciation
something to reciprocate.

Or maybe not.
Maybe it was simple convenience
that brought you close to me.
Either way
I was appreciative of the opportunity
to absorb your essence up close
but I never said “Hello,”
The courage escaped me
and I ended up shaking
too slightly for you to see
(I hope)
and it didn’t take you long
to find another seat.

I don’t know why
I couldn’t speak to you
when you afforded such an excellent invitation.
I suppose I’m worried
about being judged not worthy
which makes it more curious
that I’m speaking to you now
while you are clearly nowhere near
to render any verdict.

I don’t know.
Maybe you wanted to hear this admission
like how maybe you wanted
to sit next to me before.

You’re making it harder
for me to make my point.
Continuously I find
I can do nothing but stutter,
sputter out irrelevancies.
Inanity upon insanity escapes me
when you come around.
I’m not half the man I want to be.
All my strength simply abandons me
in your presence.

But ironically
in your absence
there seems no point in speaking.
Without you near
why bother?
I am left these days
a blithering ditherer when I see you
and a moping myopic,
blind to even basic pleasures,
when you’re gone.
What can I do?

Does this make any sense?
Am I successfully stringing words together
to get you to understand my central thesis?
If not
then I suspect
you’re already on your way over.

Thank you for the warning
about these awful conditions
on these terrible days.
I appreciate the information
you so effortlessly offer,
but honestly
I have no intention of falling
for the foreseeable future.

When I tread upon the ice
I shall be upright.
I shall be strong.
I shall stride forcefully, carefully
and I will not stumble.
I will not crack.
I shall glide safely past all problems.

There are others who.
when faced with difficulties,
will choose to fail
rather that rise to the level of the test.
They opt to not succeed,
to fail, to fall to the lowest depths.
I am not one of those.
I am not a loser.
Instead, I shall win.

I shall win
and when I walk out into the wastes
I will be one who survives.
I will not be defeated
for I will decide to thrive.
I will not fall,
not if I have anything to say about it.

You ask me why I picked you.
Why,
out of all the girls
in all the gin joints
in all the world,
I looked your way
and thought, “cool beans.”
Clearly, you’re curious
what made me believe that ours
could be such a beautiful friendship.

You wonder why my eyes don’t wander
when we speak
and how I can call attention
to a detail you might have mentioned once,
weeks ago.

You ask me
over and over again
why you captivate me.
The very question
is part of the answer.
You very much doubt
why anyone would be interested in you.
You are suspicious
since how could anyone
want to know more
about you?

More than your beauty
more than your bust
more than your face and fashion
put together for best effect,
more than your smarts and style
and weird way with words
more than any of the unnamables
that keep me so close
it is your modesty
that becomes you most.