jonberger

I am blessed
that I have a building
with a view
of my many neighbors
across the street.

Just look at them!
Imagine the panoply of stories available
via this screen before me
– this bug screen on my window.
Think of the stories I could tell
simply by telling tales
of my neighbors.

Tessa has many boyfriends.
Some come calling
on the very same night.
They enter, then enter
then depart quite quickly.
I’ve seen not one stay til dawn’s early light.

Line Cook Todd is often quite nervous
of the Internal Revenue Service.
He wastes away days
throwing money away
when I’d pay him to simply hors d’oeuvre us.

On the fourth floor, Tommy and Tiny dance
never knowing I’m watching all times.
I take photos at times on the offest of chance
I’ll catch one of them in some rhythmic crime.

The names have been made up
of course
to protect the guilty.
I don’t know the identities
of the people across the way.
But I smile at them
sometimes
on the street
knowing how much entertainment
I’ve gotten from them
all of these lonely days.

Truly
I am blessed
but also
I am cursed
that I have to dress
lest my neighbors look across the avenue
to take my measure
as I do theirs.

Pretty sure this is goodbye.
which is probably
what you’ve wanted for sometime now.
But I’m on board with you, really.
Finally, we’re in agreement.
You don’t need me around anymore
and I don’t need to feel this way
with such frequency.
I don’t need you to make me feel small;
I can do that
just fine on my own.

Good luck
on future endeavors
and finding another
who will take so many of your burdens
for so little reward.

Oh, hell.
Who am I kidding?
You’ll find another like me
in sixty seconds flat.
After all
there is
I’m told
a sucker born every minute.

Don’t kill yourself tonight.
Don’t kill yourself tonight.
Wait until the morning
when the sun takes flight.
Please don’t kill yourself tonight.

Give yourself a little time.
Give yourself a little time.
Stall out the inevitable
with a movie or a rhyme.
Just give yourself a little time.

Order out for herbal tea.
Order out for herbal tea.
Or give me a call
if you think it necessary
after ordering out for herbal tea.

Think about all those you love.
Think about all those you love.
Imagine how they’d feel
when they look down from up above
and think about all the folks you love.

Sing no songs of suicide.
Sing no songs of suicide.
Unless it’s in your neighborhood
that Big Fun does reside
then sing no songs of suicide.

Don’t kill yourself tonight.
Don’t kill yourself tonight.
It will only compound misery.
You know that I am right
so don’t kill yourself tonight.

You’re not getting it.
You’re listening to my poetry wrong.
You’re not clapping loud enough
to have heard it right.
You get the references to ALF, right?
That’s important for complete appreciation.

And the jokes about pubic weeds.
Did you hear all the words?
Did you graduate high school?
If you don’t have the proper education
you’re probably not going to understand everything.

Notice the alliteration
and how the titles have nothing directly
to do with the poem,
but if you tilt your head and squint
you can see what the titles resemble.
I can show you how to squint
if you want.

And really
that series
is not half a sexist as it sounds.

Look
if you’re not going to pay attention
the right way
of course you’re not going to yield
all the rewards my words can offer.
If it’s not that important to you
to get it
then I guess we can just agree
to disagree.

Before I was famous
I could say what I wanted with impunity.
I could speak my thoughts about anyone
or anything
Without considering repercussions
because there would never be any.
Nobody worried about my opinions
because nobody cared about my opinions
because nobody knew who the hell I was.

Before I was famous
I never had to pretend I knew someone.
I recognized all the people
who came up to me
and strangers couldn’t read articles about me
to recite details from my past
as if they shared it.
Anyone who seemed to know me
actually knew me.
In real life
with no exceptions.

Before I was famous
I could maintain anonymity anywhere
but at my parents’ house.
No disguises were necessary.
No throngs surrounded me.
Nobody complimented me
to gain my favor.

Before I was famous
what friends I had were true
and devoted
and has no ulterior motives
for my friendship.

Things were simpler
before I was famous
and easier
and I pray daily
to never return to them.

She isn’t going to call.
Those days are done.
She’s not interested
in what do you have to sell
or the excuses you might offer
anymore.

It’s better this way.
You were unhappy with how things were – remember?
You were praying for respite
hoping for a change.
It’s here now, isn’t it?

Change had to come
and you’ve got it!
There’s a price to pay
for the transition, though.
You can’t occupy her attention
the way you once did.
That’s the trade-off for peace of mind.
Is it worth it?
It is for her…

I suppose I have you to thank.
I had thought things were getting stale
too comfortable
too easy.
I thought that the story had come to a close
with no climax
no real resolution.

I thought everything was done
and said
and experience new life
and no one was paying attention.

Now
I see you
and realize the stakes have risen
and conflict is in my life again.

My father was a bad man.
No, that’s wrong.
He was a difficult man,
not particularly considerate,
caring
or interested in other people.
At least
until the operation.

He got a new valve in his heart.
It was a pig valve.
Not the best option
for a Jew.
It didn’t last long.
Leaking,
the pig valve was replaced
with a machine part.

That lasted forever
– or as forever as necessary.
With it,
my father seem to have a change of heart.
He became kinder,
nicer,
a better person.
I wonder,
if the pig valve had lasted,
would he have proven even more overpowering,
becoming yet another little Napoleon?

It doesn’t matter.
My father’s story had a different ending
which did not resolve particularly happy
or well.
At least, though,
he ended up
far more human
than he had previously been.

Yesterday it was a warm, inviting 54 degrees.
Today it’s a cold and wintry 55.
What’s the difference?
What has changed?
One person’s reaction,
a smile or a shun,
should not be so important.
How she treats me
should not change my day.

This has happened
far too often lately
and I do not endorse it.
If this is love
I’d like to change my order, please.
If this is love,
well it sucks.

This might be another thing, though.
One of the cousins, perhaps
perhaps it obsession
or crush
or indigestion,
I am not happy with the symptoms.
I am not satisfied at all
with these goings-on.

Let me get over it
think of something else
or someone else.
Maybe there is some other lass
that can occupy my attention.
Is there some way
I can refocus
and find a way
to get used to these temperatures?

A writer
is very much like a miner
seeking some treasure
in the dirt and muck before him
(or her. A writer is also an equal opportunity explainer).

A writer digs.
A writer drills down.
A writer breaks things down
and carts them out
and sifts through
for what is glorious and valuable.

A writer
is also very much like a minor
in that he (or she. We covered that, didn’t we?)
thinks with sexual organs
and cries when he doesn’t get his way.

A writer
is sometimes like a mine:
explosive.