There is a way out
and it’s not the way that you came in.
You have to solve a variety of puzzles
answer questions
resolve issues
that will leave you better prepared,
all of which, ironically,
have nothing to do with getting you out.
They just make your time easier
while you’re in.
It’s “you’re,” by the way,
not “your.”
That’s also entirely irrelevant to your experience
while you’re in,
but some people seem to care a whole lot about that,
so I thought I’d share.
My cereal has been eaten.
My socks are freshly dry.
My cap is jauntily askew.
My car is pointed exactly where I need to go, according to GPS.
I am ready to quest.
I’m going North
to find my destiny.
It is a slightly rainy day,
so danger certainly awaits me.
Who knows what fright will be before me?
But I will overcome it with all the poise and bravery
one little man can muster.
I am ready to quest.
The quest is here and I will not fear.
This is no time to slumber
for I am first among all my peers
and I am ready to rumble!
It is time to go
and I don’t know when I’ll be back.
Maybe four thirty.
Maybe four thirty three.
Never can tell.
The important thing is that excitement
is in order today
for I am going North
and I am ready to quest.
Thigh upon thigh,
the trenchcoat pair read their papers,
he in print, she on her tablet.
They’re off to their morning responsibilities,
taking their respective worlds by storm,
though the storm passed the city
before either of them woke up
today.
They’ll part at Fifty Ninth Street,
then touch base in the evening,
see if they’ll travel home together.
Theirs is an equitable partnership.
There will be passion again,
when he discovers
what she’s done.
After I saw her, I parked by the side of the street.
She sauntered over luxuriously,
taking her time, sure that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Leaning through my window, she didn’t say anything,
just waited for me to speak.
I just looked at her: In tight red and pink bows,
she was the kind that wound me up tight.
I was having trouble finding my voice.
Eventually, she broke the deadlock.
“You looking for anything in particular?”
I gulped. Even with the help, I was unable to utter a sound.
“Is there something I can help you with?” She asked.
My silence extended. A tear came to my eye.
Softly, she shook her head. “Maybe next time, sweetie.”
She turned, and took position back on her corner.
I was unable to move for a while
but finally, gained enough control to put the car into Drive and leave this block
to never come back again.
The works in this gallery cost more than my apartment would,
if my shitty place were ever to be put on the market.
The gallery hosts poetry once a month,
which is a great mitzvah, but I’m a little uncomfortable in the space.
If I break a display case, that’s a life savings,
right there.
I don’t have many of those.
Still, Alan opens the show with a series of acoustic instrumentals,
the audience is attentive,
and there’s free whine all night long.
I’m no drinker, but complaining is my jam.
When I came out the first time,
I showed up ridiculously early,
put my name near the top of the list, and ended up going first.
This time, my name is much lower in the list,
but so far, no one else has come in to follow up.
I’m the extent of the list. Oi.
It then the host of the night signs up at the very top,
and a couple of people put themselves before me,
and some other sign up afterward.
It’s not the rollicking event I saw last month,
but it promises to be a good time.
The host of this mostly female space
is a shaggy guy, soft-spoken,
who reads other folks’ material at the top.
He introduces the fine art on the walls,
and the artist is one of the ladies who runs this poetry series.
I flirted with her a little last time – though she may not have known it.
She’d designed the flyer for the show.
The first couple of acts are cool.
The second one, I recognize from before.
She promotes her open mic next week.
I’ll go if I can.
Then it’s me.
I read stuff I wrote specifically for this event.
I wrote it today, and I didn’t have a chance
to revise or rehearse,
so it’s not my best presentation,
but I don’t notice anything reprehensible in what I’ve done.
Not bad, Jon.
The host gives me a kind critique when I’m offstage,
and we move on.
The night continues.
Some of the poets have good material.
Some of them are inspiring enough for me to take notes
so I can riff on them later.
The reading ends around nine thirty and we all gather to chat.
I mostly talk to Alan, who introduced me to this scene
to begin with,
but I also chat with the artist, the one who’s hosting the other open mic,
the host of this open mic, and a very powerful reader.
It’s proven to be a good evening,
and I paid neither an arm nor a leg.
I don’t use the tiny cutting board I own very much.
Most of the time,
I just cut in the edge of the sink.
This may not be the most advisable tactic
but I have seven fingers
pointing back at me, wagging,
“No big deal!”
I still don’t know why
trying to dry a wet t-shirt
in a microwave will set in on fire.
I guess I could use a search engine
to find an answer,
but I’d much rather curse the darkness.
Damn you, darkness.
Damn you, like, a lot.
I usually use a dryer to try my clothes anyway, Mo-om.
The toaster oven has already caused several small fires,
which proves that all the fires
associated with the toaster will be small.
That logic seems pretty tight
and I am safe from any danger
with my greasy, crumby, old
and oft-burnt toaster oven.
It has served me so well.
How could I ever give it up?
Sleep will come when you let it,
when you slow your breathing,
think about rest,
and just give yourself the time out.
If you keep gulping the sugar packets,
sleep’s gonna sneak away,
then start galloping far past you
just to keep distance.
Play your games, though,
keep on surfing,
or chat away,
and your rest will find someone else
with whom to commune.
You’re not the only one who wishes to sleep this night
– or any other.
Be a welcoming host
and sleep will fly to you.
Try it.
Just
try it.
jonberger 