jonberger

This was
in retrospect
not the best way
to get to the train on time.
I
am sorry
that this is the route that I chose
to deliver you to ETA.

If we blast past the speed limit
– if traffic will let us –
we may still get there
I hope.
Argh!
We should never have crossed at the 1-2-5.
That way lies madness.
If we’d gone through the park
we’d have arrived already.

I
am so sorry.
This
this has all gone wrong
and I have blown it
and you’re gonna miss your transfer
and
I think you might have to stay here
in town
one more day
with me.

Wanna make out?

I can get the sandwich of my dreams
much less often
now that my time in that particular street
has been so limited.

With so little opportunity
to visit that neighborhood
and so few chances to stop in
and buy the Fab Fowl
I am finding myself
experimenting with other sandwiches
at other shops.

They are not the same.
They are not as good.
They will come to satisfy me
I am sure
but for now
they are second class sandwiches
eaten on second hand streets
prepared by second shift workers.

They do not compare
but
until I find a new store
to satisfy me
they will have to do.

The sexpot clattered into the emergency room
on three inch heels
with the fuck me pumps
spilling out of her purse.
As she looked out the reflective window
she saw her hair and mascara
were good enough for this late night visit.

She slid money into slots
at the vending machine
collected her chips and soda
looked around spasmodically
and moved back to the cubicle
where her drunk boyfriend
was hooked to an electronic barf bag.

She settled in for a slow
hungover night
of convalescence
while I waited for intake
on my permanent tumescence.

I never got a chance
to ask for her number
and never got a chance
to again longingly leer
at her tight tight butt.

I liked you better when you smiled at me.
I liked you better when we used to dance.
I like you better when our evenings lasted well into the dawn.
I liked you better when you liked me.

I liked you better when you asked my opinion.
I liked you better when you cried about me.
I liked you better when you licked my belly.
I liked you better when I liked you better.

I liked you better when the big O was boss.
I liked you better when we had hope.

I liked you better when you were more easy going.
I liked you better when you were easier.
I liked you better when you let me get sleazier.
I liked you better in that sweater
– the wetter the better.

I liked you better… then.
But now, it’s now
and like you less
since I bet on us
and lost you.

I was thinking back
on this premonitory poem I wrote
some years ago
about the collapse of the political cogniscenti
as the donkeys brayed
and the preying mammoths
transformed into an incestuous army
of cackling jackals
biting each other
eating their young
along with everyone else’s.

(I don’t want to repeat the poem
but just so you know
it’s good.
Look it up on your local social media.)

I was interested
in the forecasting powers
I had displayed
and curious if my power
as unparalleled predictor
might make me a man of menace
to those around me.

Had my prognostications
my ability to foresee
made me beyond mere mortals
and would my friends
starting seeing me
as something far to superior to them?
What did my personal future hold?
Should I write a poem about me
to know for sure?

But then I realized
a stopped clock never coils
and
while I predicted the predilections
of these primaries,
I have also written
about fetal sex
and extraterrestrial venereal diseases
and that maybe
I might remain mortal
for a little while longer.

I’m sorry things played out
as they did.
I wish
I was a better host
or a host at all.
I’m sorry i was unwilling to adventure
the way you wanted
at the right time
or in the right ways.
I’m ashamed
I didn’t offer you
what you needed.

But
did you see what I did do?
I emptied this drawer for you.
I bought that toothbrush for you.
I washed dishes
Laundered sheets
I cleaned up six years worth of comics
for you.

These may seem like small actions
or just gestures
but they were difficult
requiring some steeling of the nerves
for scouring of pans
or washing of butt.

I did not take these actions on lightly
and had not made these choices for most
but you are special
and you deserve the best
and while
the best was not available
I did what I could.
I am striving
to make myself
better.

He doesn’t like to be touched.
He’s not used to it
so when he find an elbow bump
or an errant hand on shoulder
he reacts poorly.
He winces.
He jerks.

He avoids crowds with this in mind
and is solemn in his approach.
He will not touch
unless expressly invited
like a vampire
or a SNAG.
He is careful.
He comes correct.

It makes him creepy
which he regrets.
He would like to change.
He would like tactile practice
but that is hard to come by
when he is so evasive
on a physical level.

He finds
there is always distance
between him and them.
He finds it at work
on trains
in the midst of conversations.
He even considers himself
from a distance
as if several people separate him from others.

He would find it sad
if he appreciated
things that are touching. 

The night you met your latest boyfriend
was the night I broke up with my last girlfriend
and I can’t help but wonder
where we would be
if our timings had been somewhat different.

You were at the bar
fending off the advances of some drunken jerk
when Steve came up to you
engaged you
saving you from having to talk to that ogling lech
who wandered off, muttering
leaving you alone
with Steve.

You were slow to warm to him
but he had kind eyes
and a funny smile
and the initial hookup
quickly reshaped
becoming something more.

Meanwhile
at the same bar
things went bad to worse with Alicia
as she commanded so much attention
requiring me to talk to no one else
or look at no one else
including the blonde at the bar
who turned out to be you.

Alicia argued
and Alicia accused
and Alicia uttered oaths
and eventually
at evening’s end
the altercation arrived
at an area where our implosion
was assured.

We agreed to put a cap
in out two months together
and follow it with a lifetime apart.

So it didn’t work out with Alicia and I
and clearly
the timing was not right for you and me.
But I wonder
if you and Steve somehow
avoid the aisle
do you think eventually
you can make time
for me to ogle you again?

I am so glad you guys ended up together.
In retrospect
it seems really obvious
and natural.
You two deserve happiness
and you deserve each other
and I’m happy that it worked out so well
so elegantly.

There is some sort of perfection
in your coupling.
I imagine it
sometimes in the dark
when I’m alone
and you two are undoubtedly snuggling.
I think of that snuggling
and my heart is warmed
at the thought of
the two of you wonderful people
together.

I expect your sex life is healthy.
I expect your conversations are honest.
I expect you two
to be a perfect pair.
I hope it is so
and I hope that you don’t give a thought
to the trampled carcass of my heart
that got you here.

So many happy returns!

If you were here
maybe you’d say the right words.
Perhaps you’d be willing to talk to me
telling me it will all turn out all right
because it always does
except when it doesn’t.

If you were here
you’d probably put an arm over shoulder
and say “there there”
or something equally significant.
You’d do what you could
to try to turn my mood around.

If you were here
though
I would simply shrug off your consolations
and explain how I knew it would be all right
because that is what boys do
except when they don’t.

If you were here
of course
I doubt I would need to act
like everything was normal
since I would not have to acclimate
to the loss of you.