jonberger

Look
if you won’t do it
then I may just have to take a stab.
If you can’t get off your ass
and get to work on your life story,
I think I’ll write it.

If you squint hard enough
can’t you just see me
in your small hometown
learning to crawl
when your father said
you’d never be able to fly?
Just think of those tortured early days
I might have lived
in your shoes.

Or how I came to New York
fresh from my scrapple past
hungry for attention
and all the arts and drugs
the city could offer.
Think back of the landscapes you’ve painted
of your earlier adventures
and then place me in the foreground.
There are innumerable stories I could tell
because I’ve heard yours so often,
so well.

Your history
is mine for the taking
if you won’t start to chronicle it.
Unless you copywrite your life
I see no reason
why I shouldn’t write it out.

If I have to hear one more differing opinion,
I will listen.
I will take in the opposing views
I will consider them
if they are not identical
to the many other differing opinions
I have heard throughout these trying times
and I will likely discount them
for I am not so easily swayed.

But I will go so far
as to let someone have her say
so I can have a better understanding
of him
and myself
and I will use that understanding
to add to my personal map of the universe.

I am small.
I am parochial.
I argue often
and aggressively
and will not accept other opinions at first
but
if I refuse to hear them
stupid and ignorant as they are
then I am stupid
and ignorant
and wrong
and will remain small and parochial forever.

So though I hate the different opinions
I will listen to them
until you give me enough reason
to abusively flick them off.

Storm’s coming.
Collect your scraps.
Get the buckets in position.
Call your relatives
and have your umbrellas
at the ready.
It may not be too bad
this time
but, like he said,
“Hope for the best.
Prepare for the worst.”
Unless it was she that said it.
Whatever.

It could be smooth
or utmost chaos
in the offing.
It’s impossible to know.
So get ready
be set to go
and wait for the storm
already in its way.

Yes
I know what you think.
I understand your opinions on the matter
quite clearly
and while I appreciate your theories
and would never seek to dissuade you
from your beliefs
I feel duty bound to inform you
that you’re incorrect
mistaken
in error
humiliatingly overtly wrong.

I want you to have your different views
and to fight the good fight
on those topics important to you
but you’re so off base on this topic
it’s ridiculous.
You’re beginning to look ridiculous
– so ridiculous, I fact
that it’s ridiculous!

Look, we can agree to disagree
some of the time
but I’m afraid on this subject
you’ve been fooled all of the time
and I must disavow you
immediately
of your erroneous assessments.
It’s embarrassing what you think, really.

Feel free to have other thoughts
in other areas
where you might have some greater expertise
but on this
please keep quiet.
You’re wrong
and there’s little more to say
– for you, at least.

I should have walked out with you.
I should have followed you.
I should have introduced myself
assertively
attentively
and offered to buy you many drinks.

I should have invited you
for a weekend of excitement and debauchery
in some unknown state
where neither of us knew anyone
so no one could see our shame
after the filthy things we would do.

I should have shown you some dance moves
or stopped by your house
unannounced
and introduce myself to your parents
or your husband.
I could have taken that chance
to let him know
the new order of things,
how we were meant to be together
and he could be the bigger man
and just bow out gracefully
or we could fight about it
go to blows
or the dozens
and decide who had earned your attention
and gone about it that way.

I should have asked to marry you
before introducing myself.
I should have given you flowers
or bought you a hot dog.
There are so many ways
this evening could have gone
but it didn’t go any of those ways.
It went wrong
because I did what I shouldn’t have
and not what I should.

If you keep trying
maybe eventually
you’ll produce something that isn’t shit.
Just put in enough hours
and I have to hope something you do
will work out as expected.
I’m optimistic about that possibility.

You just have to think positive
I guess
and believe in yourself
and eventually
you won’t fuck it up.
The odds
are certainly in your favor.

I encourage perseverance.
You know
that Ford went through
like
twenty iterations
to get a good car
and after that he became president!
Can’t argue with those results
can you?

So keep at it.
Keep trying to do something right
something that isn’t stupid
or embarrassing
or humiliatingly bad.
You’ve got a good chance
of not failing
at least once.

Do you remember
in the last days of Napster
when we first started talking
you sent me a song?
It was by one of those post-2 Tone acts:
General Public or Fine Young Cannibals
and I couldn’t play it at first
until I came over
and you showed me how to open an MP3
and we played it
and we danced together
and maybe touched just a little
and it was pretty cool.

I’ve been thinking about that song
even though I can’t remember the artist
or the lyrics
or the melody or rhythm.
I just feel it in me
you know?

And all the details of those days
are kind of murky now
– not that I was drinking that much –
but it’s just hard to hold on
to the specifics
when it all felt like
some glorious high school summer.
Anyway…

If you could tell me
what that song is
and maybe send it to me
and maybe show me
how to play it again
I’d really appreciate it.

I didn’t take notes.
I interviewed my dad
seeking answers
trying to get beneath the history
I’d heard only through anecdotes
so I asked the questions
and he answered as well as he could
for while his short term had gone to shit
his long term seemed all right.

But I took no notes
and now that he’s gone
it is possible that my memory
is as shot as his
since the facts are evasive
escapist
pouring out my porous skull.

While I still have space for the contents of
Amazing Spider-Man # 122
I’m not sure what bone
my father broke in Israel
or how he lost his virginity.
We discussed these things
I thought
but now he’s gone
and so perhaps is his history.

I should have taken notes.
I should have listened better.
I should have done more
to keep him alive
and now
in these grave times
all that’s left
is digging down
sifting for answers
about his bones.

Near the end
we would go out
on constitutionals
taking the air
seeing the sights
staring at families
chatting about the past.

I would ask him
occasionally
about his history
and sometimes about mine.
Sometimes, the answers required prodding.
Sometimes, the walks required prodding, too.

He wasn’t healthy
and preferred to stay in
and had gotten out of practice retaining information
but his distant past
was easier to exorcise
than his body was to exercise.

I asked about his voyages
and his education
and his work history.
I asked about how my parents met
and how he broke her heart.
He answered
possibly appreciative that someone took interest.
I was indeed interested
in collecting the data
while there was still time.

His body got worse.
The walks got shorter
and eventually stopped.
There were still stories left to hear
but I found it harder to ask
without the ritual.

I still remember those walks fondly
and hope, idly,
that there might be somebody
to ask about them someday
when I am weaker
unwell
and barely willing to go out.

I am in standing rock.

We all are on standing rock
upright together on a shared stone
hurtling, lonely, through cosmos.

We are unified
in our need for survival
and a desire for further generations
to flourish
but we constantly bicker
about how.

Be it religion
or abortion
or borders
or placards dividing blue and gray
we find ways to disagree
on everything.

Still
we remain together
on standing rock
traveling together
forever.
If only there were a way
for us to get along.