jonberger

After your ultimatum
I did as you asked
and I took a night
to think about our relationship
and I have come to the conclusion
that you were right.
I don’t think that
I will ever see you
as an equal,
just like you said.

It has been too long,
too any years of arguing
and me seeing you at your worst
for it to be likely
for me to review my impressions
and begin to think better of you.

I’ve tried.
Believe me
I’ve spent endless hours
listening to you chirp on
thinking “this time,
it’ll be different. Now
she’ll make sense.”
But I can never will it
to be so.
You are always
the ridiculous freak I first met
incapable of good decisions
or intelligent thought.

I’m sorry
but you were right.
I’ll never change
and I’ll never be able
to truly respect you.

I wear my father’s shoes
the ones he left
beside the easy chair
when he slipped into slippers
at the end of a retired day.
They sat there
when we found him
and only left their spot
when we emptied out his framer residence.

His shoes were only slightly worn
so I took them
along with other prizes
from his life well-lived.
They are orthopedic,
and I’ve found them easier
to traverse the city
than my own purchased footwear.
They serve me well
as they no doubt served him.

I know I cannot walk
in these retrieved sneakers forever.
I’m as sure of that
as my father’s continued lack of interest in them.
Someday,
the treads bare
the straps frayed
the stitches torn,
the shoes will be no good for anyone.
Someday, though,
is not today.
I can fill my father’s shoes
for at least a little longer.

There’re some new people
in your apartment.
I haven’t met them yet
but I don’t think
they’ll be as much fun as you.

I don’t believe
we’ll talk across the courtyard,
learning some form of bastard semaphore
for late night communication
when the neighbors go to sleep.
I suspect we won’t have any midnight meetings in the roof
just the two of us
and Jim Bean
and mis-taken dance steps.
I’m sure
they won’t split an anchovy pie with me
every four months.
like clockwork.

The new couple seems neat enough,
all their goods put away
as soon as they moved in,
no boxes spilling over for months on end.
They haven’t looked my way at all yet.
I’m sure it’ll be all right,
once we get to know each other.
It’s just
not the same.

Anyway,
I hope all is well for you,
and that you’re having a good time
wherever you are
and that you get in touch
when you establish yourself
after the honeymoon.

I can see what’s to come.
You’ve got wandering eyes
and I can tell you’re readying yourself
for further adventures
in different lands.
Soon you’ll escape this town.
Soon you’ll leave me
but please
not too soon.
Do not take the holidays away
with your absence.
Stay with me
until the First.

We can make a fresh start
in the New Year
with promises and resolutions
and whatever moves and changes
are coming our way.
After Orthodox Christmas
we can schedule our breakup
unless you can wait for MLK’s day
or President’s Week.

You know
considering it
I don’t think I can live
through Black History Month
without you
or Easter
for that matter.

In retrospect
can we maybe
table this conversation
until Columbus Day?
Cool. Talk then.

She told me she didn’t like it
that I’d hurt her
and she wasn’t interested
in being around someone
who’d do that sort of thing
anymore.

I said to her she was being silly
that she should take a beat
and think about what she was risking.

I said I loved her
and never dreamed of hurting her
and anything I might have done
any wounds or bruises
emotional or no
were unintentional.
I said I loved her
again
and hoped that it would count
for something.

She said
it means something
and she might even love me too
but the pain
emotional or no
was too much
and if I loved her or not
either way
she suffered
she needed to heal.

Then she said goodbye
and left
and now she’s gone
and I’m the one alone
with no one to talk to.

And I’m hurting.
How is that fair?

We sat next to each other Saturday
at Rae’s dinner party.
I was to your left
and explained to you
the difference between Sci-Fi
and SF

infer and imply
and even made a point to show you
how to properly use couple and few
in a sentence
when you had to take
an emergency call from your office
and then I couldn’t catch your eye
for the rest of the night.

The number you gave me
seems to be missing a couple of digits
and Rae somehow couldn’t find a way to contact you.
Hours of research online didn’t help
so I’m forced to rely on this service
to make you an offer you shan’t refuse.

I know you mentioned your boyfriend,
a husband,
and a fatal disease you were dealing with
but you had a pretty smile
and a pretty good rack
and I thought I would take the chance
of letting you know
that I’m available
and not a little interested.

You should call me.
I’m willing to take you out
to any one of the places
where I’ve got coupons.

Patiently,
Left Side in Lancaster

If I could do it again
I would have been more tentative
more suspicious.
When she said it was all for me
I would have asked probing questions
making sure that I could believe her.
But
even if I was more careful
had protected myself better
had dipped my toe in more daintily
she would still have been cruel.
Our time
would he ended up toxic.

There’s not much I could change
that would get me what I want:
a life with Chelsea.
Even though
I think about what she did
to me
to her sister
to that restaurant that hosted
her twenty ninth birthday party
and I know
it could never have worked out.

It could never have worked.
I know that.
I understand
but it doesn’t stop
me from wanting her
and wishing Chelsea would return.
It just doesn’t stop.
I miss her
though at the moment
I completely hate her.

She wants to ensure
she gets paid for her art
so she has stopped showing
until she is guaranteed
appropriate recompense.
Her goals are laudable,
her restraint commendable,
but her tactics impossible
– for me, at least.

I need to present.
I have to express my creativity.
If I don’t
I diminish.
I shrink.
I lose some sense of self.

I know full well
who will suffer most
if I can’t get my ideas out
even if presented
to blind eyes.
The world might not know the difference,
but if I couldn’t say
what I need to say
I would be somebody else
and
I wouldn’t want be someone else.

Or do I?
Is this the difference
between a craftsman
and an artist?
Is this the difference
between a dilettante
and a slave?
Or perhaps the reward I seek
is not financial
but something else.
It matters little.
She can chose
to do what she wants
with her art.
I have no such choice.

All is good with the world
for worry has been averted.
Her baby boy
found himself a little girl
and everything is exactly
as it should be.
The Almighty
does what He does with purpose
so the years of anxiety
and fear
as to what her son
was getting up to
must have had some reason.
It doesn’t matter.
Her youngest is just a later bloomer
and dating a girl.
A Jew.
Finally.
To think how long
she was concerned
about the happiness he sought
and all that it entailed…
but it was for nothing.
He’s found a woman
at last
and everything she could ask for
for her sensitive son
has finally come true.
Thanks to God.
Now if only
they would stop living in sin.
After all
what will the people say?

I wrote this before the apocalypse.
I wrote this back when
there was still a chance.
I wrote this
in those days
when we were uncertain about the future
at a point when prior uncertainty
brought us to that rickety precipice.
Yet
when this was written
it wasn’t too bad.
This was written when hope remained.

These words were recorded
when discourse was diminishing
when thoughts were foundering
when crises were coming
but hadn’t yet arrived.
This piece was composed
before it all went to hell.

Civilization still stood.
Society still rambled along
unaware of its eventual end.
Order still held sway
and people
though worried
thought that this too
would pass.
I wrote this
back when there was possibility
of a future,
of escape.
This wasn’t written so long ago.
I was very optimistic
back before the apocalypse.