jonberger

When you get where you’re going
don’t let them think you know too much.
Don’t use that snide tone
I hear from you
that you think I don’t hear.
I hear it quite well
thank you very much.
I simply don’t respond to it
in order to keep the peace.

Don’t let anyone think
you think you’re funny
or special
or handsome
or deserving.
Do not let them think
you need to be taken down,
for given the chance
that is certainly
the absolute first thing they will do.

Don’t spend too much money
or show that you have money
and be very careful when talking to strangers
especially strange girls
who may tempt you
into doing strange and stupid things.
Don’t be stupid
on your way
to where you’re going.
Don’t act brave.
There is no reason to be brave.
Brave boys become dead boys.

When you get where you’re going
please write me
and tell me how you like it.
Let me know
if you’re ever coming back.

The sirens blared as the ambulance left the building
but I don’t know why they bothered.
She was already dead
had only been recently discovered.

People die all the time
old people, doubly so.
It was no surprise that she was gone
but what was a surprise
was how I cared.

I guess I didn’t realize
until the chance to do so had forever fled
just how little I loved her.
The absence was obvious right away
as was the need to complete
various bits of business
but pain?
Grief?
I guess it wasn’t in my nature.

I sat with the solitude for weeks
through wake and funeral
and blackened fashions
and dour days.
I kept up appearances
but couldn’t find it in me to cry
until the storm.

When weeks later
the skies opened up in fury
I thought of how she had loved
to watch for clouds
and how she would have thrived
in the preparation.
There were no storms for her anymore
and I would have to suffer future emergencies alone.

It was then
I wept
for in the storm
nobody could see the tear
or listen to me wail like a siren
– not that there was anyone left
to hear.

For six months
whenever I can
I have taken the same booth
with a view of the back corner
so I can see you, Alexandra,
plates in hand
delivering delicacies straight from the kitchen.

The uniform
pinky polyester
cannot disguise your form nor grace
any more than your professionalism
can hide your charm
or beauty.
Being friendly to all
shows how much you care
for the world.

I think you might have grown to like me
over these tortured months of small talk
while I try to wend my way
ever closer to your heart.
You already treat me so well
and if you ever give me a chance
I would very much wish to offer you
a big tip
and the rest of it, too.

I may love you, Alexandra
or Alex or Al
or whatever name
you feel to be yours
in your heart.
I am partial to L
as it also stands for so much
of what I feel for you:
Love
Lust
and the knight’s shape that separates you from me
from my place in the booth
to your place in the kitchen.

Hey, before we get all into it:
it wasn’t about you.
What you heard me say yesterday?
I wasn’t referring to you.
I get how you’d think that
what with the context and the language
and the fairly specific references
but really
trust me:
total coincidence.

There was a story I was reading
in a collection I’d been advised to
and I stole the concept
and some phrases from the third chapter in the book.
So that’s what I was talking about
when you heard me say
what I was talking about.
It was an entire flight of fancy.

It’s not about you.
It’s not always about you.
This time
at least
it was certainly not about you
no matter what you heard.

God, those songs that you sang tonight
the first one
and then the second…
they made me so angry
angry at you
at me
and the universe
for allowing such atrocities to exist.
(“Mommy, if there is a god
why would he do that!”
“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know…”)

The lyrics were not so bad
as they were lame,
unable to transport in any particular direction,
just nonsensical images
that offer little in way of storytelling
or imagination.
But the voice?
The tragic melody you used?
Awful. Simply awful.
There were no winners
after your performance just now.
Nothing but a room full of losers exists before you.

I saw you looking at me
searchingly
wondering if I would offer my opinion
but too many people
lately
have told me if I had nothing nice to say
I should shut the fuck up
so my lips is zipped.

You will hear me say nothing at all
about your criminally horrendous set
no matter how much
I long to tell you the truth
and then tell you off.

I think I hate my girlfriend
and her stupid cats
but she’s got a really great apartment
so I keep her around.

I’m not a big fan of change
and she’s a big fan of bills
– in her purse,
not in the mail.
She’s loaded, is what I’m saying.
She’s got dollars for donuts for days.
It makes up
for a whole lot of stupid behaviors
in bed.

I can’t stand how she smells
or the way she blinks
while watching television.
She’s kind of the worst
but the neighborhood is great.
No dog poop anywhere.
I can tolerate a lot
in the name of clean sheets.

Sometimes, after a vigorous attempt
at lovemaking
she holds me close
and whispers “I don’t deserve you.”
In moments like that
I close my eyes
(to avoid looking at her)
and say “Nothing could be further from the truth.”
I’m not lying.
She totally deserves what she gets.

Always say you’ll call
the next day
even if she’s already put out.

After spilling your seed on the sheets
offer to sleep in the wet spot.
Do not actually do so
but be sincere in your offer,
so sincere that she feels obliged
to bite the bullet.
Later, you might get her
to bite another bullet.

When you meet a drunk girl
wearing fishnets and the rest of the slut uniform
if she ends up unconscious at your place
don’t rape her.
She’ll be so appreciative when she comes to
she’ll probably fuck you anyway.

Do not date your cousin,
even if your brother claims she’s easy.

Write a dozen love letters a day.
Scatter them to the wind
and wait for them to return to you
buxom blondes in tow.

Hold doors for ladies
so you have a chance
to check out their asses.

Always overpromise.

So recently
you seemed perfect
but now you’re weathered
worn
the elements have done something
or maybe it’s simply a matter of perception.

Possibly
the more of you I’ve seen
the less mysteriously magic
you appear.
Maybe I’ve gotten used to your contours and curves
and they don’t entrance so completely
in this age.

The cause is lost to me
but so is the intense appeal
you once held.
I’m sorry
but I just can’t fake it any more.
I’m going back to the farm
and asking for a newer pig.

I have something to tell you:
Before our date
I went to a prostitute.
She was underaged.
She was foreign born – probably an ignorant.
Ha! I meant immigrant.
I wonder what made me say that…

I used the money
I had taken from your bag
right before I’d asked you out.
It might be because
I saw the condoms you kept
and got nervous.
I still asked you out
though
so I guess I’d gotten excited too.

The prostitute said she was of age
but when she wouldn’t sing
“I Want It That Way”
while I was going down on her
because she hadn’t ever heard of N’Sync
I could tell
that she was really young.

Anyway
I think I caught something from her.
Guess I should have used one of those prophylactics
instead of shoving a needle through them, huh?
I just thought
our relationship should start
in complete honesty.

So, honestly:
tell me
how do you think
our first date is going?

When you run out of gas
on the FDR Drive
and your hazards begin to pale
because you’ve been waiting for a tow
for what feels like forever
and the car
still in Neutral
sort of slides its way
onto the curved wall
right around the time
a speeding vehicle
ignoring the blinking lights
careens around the curve
towards your car
screeching its way forward
forward
just about to smash into
your piece of shit
out of gas
simply fucking ancient Tercel –
when that happens
don’t bother stepping between the vehicles.

It won’t help
and also
you may lose function in your legs
– like, a lot.

Theoretically.