jonberger

To hell with your promises and oaths
and the things you said should be
but couldn’t be
and all the things
I’d hoped would be held between the two.
To hell with all our arguments
and all the times we made up
and to hell with your fucking perfect breasts.
Who needed those anyway?

To hell with your friends
who liked me more
than any other guy you brought around
– or said they did, at least.
To hell with the bridges and fares
that separated us before
and to hell with the words and feelings
that separate us now.
To hell with your roommate who
I swear
had the eye for you
and to hell with your ex-roommate
who I should have slept with,
after all.

To hell with wishes and dreams
and hopes and expectations
and the justice system
that I thought for sure would see us through.
To hell with you and
to hell I’m going
as soon as I figure out what circle you’re in
so I can surely avoid it.

When the smell got too bad
they just bust through
the double locked apartment door
and discovered her.
There were no pets
to feast on her remains
but maybe some flies and maggots
were able to find some sustenance.
I didn’t get in there
until I started seeing her property
laid out by the curb.

Upstairs were the workers
who her grandkids had hired
to clear out the stuff.
Halfway done
there was still a lot of it:
canned goods
dry goods
a couple of VCRs (still boxed)
newspapers and magazines
dating back a decade
scrapbooks of snipped articles
and sometimes flyers…
A garbage bag
full of trophies just about to spill
was almost ready
about to be dropped on the sidewalk.

The three women cleaning
were Latin
with little English
and no knowledge of the life
they were boxing and bagging
and packing in.
They didn’t know
what to save
or what the family might want.
It was all
simply product for the army of salvation
or product for the street.

I asked if I could take a memento.
No one seemed to care
so in the fridge
I found her coffee can
and milk.
At least someone
might find something good
from all this loss.

The milk had already spoiled
but the can
contained her cache
just like I thought.
Goodnight, Carol.
Thanks.

As my stomach gurgles
and my ass explodes
I find myself unable to compose
a single coherent thought.
No, I sit corrected.
I do have one consistent coherent comment
and it is “Ow.”

My tummy aches
and my head is empty.
I can think of nothing to say
even while spewing the most toxic crap
I can imagine.
Colorful and creative is my ejaculate
and still
I can come up with no words to express.

Shit.
The right thing escapes me.
I hope this passes soon
so I can get back
to dropping some major new releases.

My mother asked me
if I was reliving last year.
I told her no.
This is the first anniversary
of my father’s death.
I was there
(sort of)
when it happened.

I am not reliving the experience
but I’m thinking about it
thinking if I’ve learned anything
if I’m any different
than I was before.
I’m wondering if I’m sad
or haunted
or hunting for answers
that would complete me.
(I think I am
but that’s no different than I was
367 days ago).

I’m hoping
I have something to say about it
as I live for expression
and would like to be profound
or funny or
perhaps moving
(in some profoundly funny way).
I think I’ve still got somewhere to go
before I get there.
I’m not feeling enough
about what happened
not thinking about it enough.
Am I perhaps
in my own way
as dead as dad?

Maybe I just didn’t like him that much.
Maybe I’m shallow.
Maybe grief is a process
and I’ve still got a ways to go
before I get there
(Maybe
I am reliving it
a little).

It has been a year since my father passed
a year since I passed his house
on the way to my mother’s
a year since she called me
hysterical
a year since we saw his collapsed body
on the floor
a year since I did CPR
unsuccessfully
a year since we watched the paramedics
work on his lifeless form
a year since I followed the ambulance
to the hospital
a year since I arrived
too late.

It’s been a year since the texts
the calls
the community outreach
and the sweeping up
of his apartment.
It’s been a year since
I took off those overalls.

It’s been a year that’s moved both slow and fast
a year since we sailed half mast
a year since the die was cast
a year since I saw him last
a year since my father passed

and a day
since my mother reminded me
what today would be.

I’m sorry, dad.
Maybe I’ll remember
next year.

So at last
it has come to this.
We are in the same time
but not the place.
We seem separated
in so many ways
and soon by many more.

I wish I could keep you with me
or follow the same path
you’re destined for.
I wish I had a destiny like yours
but I have learned
not everyone is so deserving.
I wish I could see myself
the way you saw me
before.
Before I ruined it all
and gave you time
and opportunity
to see the truth about me
and turn away,
before today.

They always say
you never dip into the same river twice
so we might again meet
in this river of life.
But I don’t want a different river.
The river can fuck itself.
I want to dip
with you again.

Sure, I could work
for what I want and wish.
I could strive
to become worthy of you.
But I have learned something else:
give up
because life is shit,
and so are your dreams.

I know you’ve got places to go
and I know
loose lips sink kinships
and I should have long ago shut my trap
but before we part
finally
could you…
could you just hug me again
this one last time?

(On The Morning Before Break Fast)
What have I done?
Have I lasted twelve hours
food-free already?
The rest
should certainly be a breeze.

But
she smells of maple syrup
looking so delicious,
tempting me
to take a timid taste
followed by a full-on feast.
Great God,
I am so hungry for her.

Soon she will awaken
sunny side up
as always, enticing me
with her buttery skin
and resolve
to avoid any inappropriate actions
during this seasonal hunger strike.

She is at her most beautiful
at breakfast time
and now
I yearn to end this ceremony.
I wish to savor her spicy sweetness
taking her into me
through any avenue available.
So exquisitely appetizing.
Please
can this fast end quickly?

I am starving
currently
for a god I don’t much believe in
and a faith I barely have.
I am wasting away
because I am supposed to.

I started my fast early
(so I was quick to fast?
Yes, I suppose so),
so excited was I
to respect the culture I was born into.
Yom Kippur is almost the entirety
of how I celebrate my Judaism.
That,
and Henry Winkler.

For twenty four hours
no food will cross my lips.
I’ll still drink water
so that I can flush the sins
out of my system
metaphorically.
That isn’t the tradition
but it seems somewhat elegant.

I used to have my own tradition
of having
on Yom Kippur
a milkshake
as a midday break from the fast.
Someone explained to me my idiocy
and I stopped with the shakes.
I still seek to wash away the day
in a river of water
despite what elders might think.

My father
a better Jew
than I’ll ever try to be
had not fasted
for several years
so I am ahead
of at least one elder.
Still
I will break my fast early
since I started prematurely.

I am licking my lips
already.

Where is my flying car?
Where are the midair collisions
we expected to experience hourly?
The pyrotechnic displays
have not developed
they way they all said.
We were promised flying cars.
We were promised flying fucking cars!

Where is that jet pack I was gonna use
burning my ass right off?
I always imagined
the sound of the sizzle
of the fat
as the fire of the furious jets
fried my butt
while flying.
Where is my multitasked weight loss
slash transportation alternative?
Where is my goddamned jet pack?

When will I get all the clone slaves
I was offered in those books?
Who’s gonna build my death ray?
Get me the homicidal cybernetic wereboars
which will rend my enemies
and sniff out truffles, too!
Find the black science
I was supposed to have on demand
and make the future right.
Give us what we have coming.
Provide me the stories I deserve.

So
here’s how I think it went down:
I think he was cheating on you
or you suspected
and he gave little reason
for you to think otherwise.

I think you felt betrayed
and a little lost
and needed someone
to make you feel more like yourself
to feel needed
and I could fill that role
quite comfortably.

I think you yearned
for attention unavailable elsewhere.
You just needed a little
I’ll bet
and what I provided
went a little overboard.

I think you started getting more devotion
from your proper man
and got worried
how I might sabotage
your good thing
because I cared for you
too much.

I think you needed to get out
that you needed to break from me
for fear of losing him
more than you had already risked.
I think he got the sense something was up
and realized what he had to lose
and you did too
so you both cleaned up your acts
and that’s why it was necessary
for you to kick me to the curb
effortlessly.

I think you liked me
a little
but liked what you had
so much more.
I think
I was a threat
that could not be tolerated.

How am I doing
so far?