jonberger

You left without me
again.
This has been happening more and more
where we’re getting along
like there’s no tomorrow
but by the time today becomes tomorrow
you’ve disappeared
and I’m alone.
It can’t be an accident
the number of times
we’ve left apart.

We are growing apart
or maybe it’s you.
I’m here to stay;
I ain’t going anywhere
without you.

What can be done
to change your direction
to one heading my way?
If I can do
anything for us to again travel together
I’d like to
at least
consider it.
Hell,
if you’ve got a suggestion
I’d get moving on it right away.

I wrote the damned poem
the piece that cursed you out
and gave you what for
– whatever they may mean –
about how you screwed me over
but were forbidden
from ever doing that again
and swore that you would never
ever see me vulnerable
at any future time
and that we were through.

It was epic.
It was potent.
It was filled with vigorous invective
and it put you in your place
and then knocked you for a loop.
It was awful
and great.
It was awfully great
and
it burned quite easily
in the fire of my favor
for you.

I killed the damned poem
and let its ashes
fly up and away
so there would be no proof of it
for anyone to experience ever.
I did this for you
and all I ask in return
is a little credit
and that you never do
what you did
again.
Do you think
you can handle that?

Sleeping with my father
was never easy
– which is just about
what you’d expect.
Each of our snores would punctuate the others’
loud enough to wake the dead
making it hard for either of us
to truly catch any quality zzzs.

So I slept with my father
infrequently, often finding other ways
to get through the night
but when we broke him
out of a Charlotte hospital
it proved important to be aware
if he made it through the night.
Because of this
and my wild-eyed interstate terror
my father was not much disturbed by my noisy nose at all that night.

Now
I no longer sleep with my father
as he sleeps with fishes
resting in peace
dirt napping his days away.
Anyway, I got a CPAP.
You’d think it would make things easier.

Hey, let’s try an experiment
for just a little bit.
See if you can shut your mouth
for just sixty fucking seconds
and see how it feels.
I mean
you may turn out to be the control group
in this project
and the rest of us
will exhibit the behaviors
I suspect we all know
what will result.

Do you think you can do it?
Do you think
your yap can remain closed long enough
for us to experience the outcome
of our research?

What if I give you a shiny
spiffy little half dollar?
Can you do your part
for science?

Huh.
You lasted longer than I thought.
Here’s twenty cents.

I’m deathly afraid
that Steve will find out
that I stole Dan’s song
– if I stole it
which I didn’t.
I admit nothing.

It’s got a haunting set of lyrics
about New York apartments
and isolation and desperation
and it ends with a punchline
which I really like.
Dan’s not playing it anymore
because Dan’s not playing songs anymore.
He’s retired
if you can ever really retire from playing
20-person holes-in-the-wall.

He’s out of the game.
He’d never notice,
is what I’m saying,
if I took any liberties
with this long-gone song.

Steve, though,
would know.
He’d recognize any reference
to Danny’s work
and call me on it.
He’s that kind guy.
He’s a historian.
He’s the conscience
of the community
and would no doubt hold me responsible
for any errant behavior
regarding “Ridge Street,”
a song probably unheard for fifteen years.

It’s a really sweet little number
but it’s Dan’s
and Steve would never forgive me
for ignoring my better angels.
Maybe
before I steal the song, then,
I should kill Steve.

I ate the bag of cookies
that you handed me
to hold.
I did protect them
in a way
by keeping them safe
from any other invader.
I am sorry
that the price was so high.

The cookies
you inadvertently fed me
were delicious
and I appreciated them
more than you might know.
They served as my dinner
and possibly
my dessert as well.

I know
you didn’t mean to lose your cookies
when you tossed them
over to me
so again
I would like to apologize
for your loss
and remind you
that if needed
I can return them to you
– albeit in a slightly different form.

Somebody told the joke
that only girls
use capos on their guitars.
Then somebody else said
that that was silly
and that all people use capos on their guitars.
It was then that I piped in
that all people must thus be girls
which seemed to make some sense
at the time
and opens up a lot of issues
that a lot people
are having
with a lot of bathrooms.
Somebody chuckled
a little
but I don’t think
it was the person
that first told the joke.

Just now
at the open mic
when you were playing
I was in the bathroom
pissing.

I’d had a lot of cola earlier
called pop in the part of the country
where you come from
and I had been holding the soda inside me
for quite some time
so when you got onstage
and I left
– for just a minute –
to get my leak on
I thought I’d be back in time
for what I assume
was truly an amazing set
but
as you understand
it was not to be.
My urine stream went on and on
and, apparently, on
and when I got back from the Gents’
you were offstage.

I’m really sorry.
I fully expected to be there
to hear your material
and to support your message
and your vision
and your ability to execute
a few good lines.
I anticipated
the opportunity to enjoy
everything you had to say
but, you know,
bladders wait for no man
woman or
especially
child.
Maybe next time.
Again: sorry.

Uh… no.
I appreciate it
but I don’t think it would be fair
for you to recite the material
for me alone.
I don’t deserve to hear it at all
if I couldn’t hear it the right way.

This must be my punishment.
I’m just going to have to suffer
living in the absence
of your amazing

art.

I bought this book in college
for one of my freshman classes
about American Imperialism
and how everything
we’ve done
as a nation
is wrong.

I never opened the book
which is just one of the many ways
we are wrong
but I’ve kept it since because
its thesis was fascinating
and its cover was vibrant
and I paid full price for it
since I didn’t know any better
at the time.

It’s been a little while
since that first book
from that first class
during that first year of college
and I’ve carried it
from dorm to apartment
to occasional hostel
to vacation knapsack.
It’s stayed with me
spine uncracked
for what feels like generations.
I no longer read books
not on bound pages
and the dust atop the text
has dust of its own.

It’s time to free the book
from my tyranny
or vice verse
even though I can’t imagine
a life without it.
Even more, though,
I can’t imagine ever actually reading it
so I’m letting you have it
at the low low cost
of cover price
adjusted for inflation.

I just met a worse you.
She looks like you
sounds like you
and behaves
in much the same way that you do
but never quite so well.
She is your inferior
in just about every way
I can quantify
– something about her
was just off.

And she was amazing;
don’t get me wrong.
She was an excellent human
and a wonderful person,
and a fantastic kisser
but
she just wasn’t you,
you know?

Do you suppose
you’ll be coming back
anytime soon?