jonberger

We cross the expanse
leisurely, late
with little light to guide us.
We take time
for neither has anywhere important
to go
this night.

We speak of King’s Brand Cabbages
and how much it matters
in the making of her favorite cole slaw.
"I don’t like cole slaw," I admit.
We agree to disagree
and walk on.

Eventually, someone’s leg get scramped
and she guides me to a bench
where we sit
beneath the bridge
that just brought us here
its luminescence brighter
from beneath.
Her lips part
as she looks up
awe-struck.

She is wondrous
her spirit palpable.
There is a sparkle all about her
and not just from the occasional headlight flashes
from the bridge above.
"She is certainly
something to see,"
she says softly.
I silently agree.

Is that your final answer
your ultimate statement on the subject?
Will you accept no further conversation
no subsequent debate at any point?
Are you done
have you finished
are you decided how this will all go down?
Have you concluded
and, having concluded,
will brook no more on the issue
or any other issue?
Have you completed all thought?

I just want to know.
Previously
I believed we both had the opportunity to opine on alternatives
but if I was wrong
and this is not to be continued,
if this is it
and if we can no longer discuss
then I guess it IS it
and we’re done here
and perhaps everywhere
for if your last word is "No,"
then I’ll let you keep it
and simply walk away.

In school
she offered me a massage
which was relaxing
and stimulating at once
and I thought
“This is someone
I could probably get to know better”
but she was seeing my hall-mate
and maybe a couple of others
on the downlow and
really
what I felt for her
was too pronounced
to be cheapened by being another
Other Guy for her.
I had too much pride
or too little experience
for such a thing.

We remained friends
who kissed occasionally
until I found someone more suitable
and much worse for me.
I traded down
by skipping the downlow
and she stayed happily with her man
and many others
for years to come.

I’m not too sure
who had the right idea
back then
but I suspect that just about everyone
had the wrong one.

How’s Alice?
She’s good, I guess.
We haven’t been in touch
for some time now.
It ended
like things tend to.
It’s not like mammals are meant to date for life.
Mate. I meant “mate.”
Mammals aren’t eternal partners.
Men need to spread their seed
and women
need, sometimes,
to find themselves in other parts of the city
with other types of people
with other parts of their bodies.

Things don’t always go as planned
you know?
You might believe
you’ve entered into some
“once in a life-time love”
or something
and then,
God forbid
you SAY something like that
and maybe it’s “too soon”
or maybe it wasn’t
“the way I was thinking about things”
or maybe it’s just “time to see other people”
instead of seeing each other.

Alice is good,
I’m sure.
According to her feeds
she’s getting lots of protein
and sleep
and having the time of her life.
If you see her,
say “Hey.”

This is a poem for Jennafur
who spelt her name wrong
but it wasn’t her fault
since that was how her whacked-out parents wrote it
on the hippie commune she was born into.

Jennafur, I knew you
for a very small while
during a very tumultuous period
– both of which (the time and the timbre)
you encouraged –
and I think of you
sometimes
and I think of what I did wrong
but more often
I think of what you did wrong
which was to rebuff my advances
possibly without recognizing them for what they were.

Sure, it’s been established
that it was improper for me
to call out your jerk boyfriend for being a stupid jerk
and maybe I shouldn’t have visited your old commune
to spelunk for some much-needed history
of what you were like before your family got deprogrammed.
Possibly
when I asked you to run away with me
across state lines
while seventeen
I should have been more clear about what I sought.

But you…
you were not sensitive to my needs.
You were not there
as a friend
to tell me to be more responsible
and less reprehensible
and maybe more reptilian,
to keep my blood cool
despite the temperatures you raised within me.

It was a rough couple of weeks with you
that short hot summer
and I’m sorry for how it turned out
but mostly sorry
that I didn’t get to kiss you
where and how
I had hoped.

The girl liked Morrissey
and she liked me
(though not in that order).
She came to my room
late, one night,
but, like Morrissey
I was beyond such things
as love and touch.

She left my room
to go to another’s
and I didn’t realize
what I’d missed
until I later learned to love Billy Bragg
who
once
covered a Smiths song:
Jeanne.

That wasn’t the girl’s name
but then
not all stories wrap up
quite so smoothly.

Afterward
I sorted through his meds.
I wanted to see
if more were missing
than I’d expected.

He had spoken of suicide
often
and suggested
in clearer moments
how an overdose
would be an easy way to go.

I knew it would never work
without help I refused to provide
but
what if he found a better accomplice?
What if someone
was willing to offer aid
that I wouldn’t?
What if he’d found the needed drive
on his own?

I counted the meds
and saw nothing out of the ordinary
though I didn’t know
what I was looking for.
What drugs
in excess
would do him in?
If he took all of something
how would I know?

There was no empty bottle
near his red hand.
No obvious evidence of anything
was available
and the autopsy offered no insight, either.

It was a mystery
with no clear answer
unless I chose one
which applied,
I suppose,
to him as well.

At times like this
it’s clear that we see the world
in violently different ways.
You see these broad vivid colors
sharp and bright
with little nuance visible between them.
I see the world
that is actually here before us.
I see what is on our plane of existence.
I see the real.

I’m not disparaging
your delusional view of things
– sometimes, I even envy it
like one appreciates how the noble savage
can live a life
without a watch
or responsibilities
or pants.
To me, sometimes,
you are that pantsless baboon
who can not understand shades
or subtlety
or existence.

I respect you
and your simple ways,
really I do.
It’s charming
but, if you can,
try to grow up.

Every time you’re at a show
and the people around you
will just not shut up
tell them to shut up.
Every time.

Every single occasion
these
people believe that they’ve gone to a place
where their conversation
should take precedence
over the activities that the location was meant to house,
disavow them of that notion.

Tell the audience
to behave like an audience
and not a band of cackling jackals.
Inform the public
of their place
as beasts
in the thrall of performers
who are their betters.

Say to them
– repeat verbatim, if necessary –
“If you
do not understand the behaviors of men
of adults
of people who know how to behave
then
you
do
not
belong here.”

Stop them from destroying civilization.
Keep them conditioned.
Save them
from themselves
and save the performer
from inconvenience.

Your remember how
after The Great War
the Hun was humbled
beaten back, busted and abused
and made to pay the victors’ fees
and everybody lived happily ever after?

Do you recall
how there was never ever a battle after that
and the War to End All Wars
was followed by peace and plenty
for the Greatest Generation?

That’s how it always is:
crush your enemies
make them submit
repeatedly
and then
you never have to keep your eye on them ever again.

Uncivil wars always end
at the point of defeat
and reconstruction
is frequently a couple of messy weeks
before peace and prosperity is provided to all.

This is how fights usually end.
This is how combat is staved.
This is how we’ll win this war
and the next
and all the many wars to follow.