jonberger

God,
this is something I never do.
I have asked you for nothing
for some number of years now
and offered nothing in return.
But now
in this moment,
I need help.
I need your help.
I don’t know what I can provide you,
almighty,
but you want it?
You got it.

In return,
give me strength.
Grant me integrity I have not earned.
Help me be the man
I always hoped to be
for I am so sorely tempted now
and don’t know how
i will ever overcome.

This is an honest prayer, God.
Please
let me not get caught
peering at her cleavage again.
It is like the sun
best viewed from a distance
through sunglasses
and with no one smacking me
for the shameful thoughts in my head
and in my eyes
and on my lips.

She has so many wonderful traits
and I wish to know all of them
but I will never get the far
if I cannot look her in the eye.
Make me strong, God,
and let me me be mighty enough
to not stare at her tits. 

If she were half the weight
and had twice the beauty
a quarter more courage
and was four fifths less bright…
Her boobs ounces more bouncy
her hair a hint higher,
then probably
she’d be too good for me.

But
if she was fifty five pounds lighter,
and one fourth the fighter,
her skin slightly whiter,
her eyes more opaque…
Should she be shamelessly slutty
– a bit more butt-buddy,
her insults less cutting,
together we’d be.

An adaptable girl
is something
I’d very much like
to see.

In my dream
the milk expired.

“But,” I said
in my dream,
“This is special Almond hyphen Walnut Milk!
It is supposed to last much longer
than the normal stuff!”

“It does not matter,”
said my father
in my dream.
“Everything has an expiration date.
Everything
becomes dust.”

“But…
but this is milk!”
I exclaimed
in my dream.
“How can a liquid become a solid?”

“Time,” replied Twinkie the Kid.
“Time, age and dust mites.”
He lifted the carton and upended it.
Nothing came out.

“You know,” a robin
with the face of a buck
told me,
“If you were hoping for dry cereal,
you can always use water
– in a pinch.”

“Thank you,”
I said
in my dream.
“I have learned so much
today.”

My other pair of pants are Jordache.
My other pair of pants are a Mercedes Benz.
My other pants are Haagen Daz.
My other pants are from Wells Fargo.
My other pants are Vidal Sassoon
and Lindt Chocolates
and Johnny Walker Gold and Showtime.

My other pants are a 19 karat diamond
and don’t even ask me
about my socks.

So
I think this whole thing has gotten a little out of hand
don’t you?
We both said some things
in anger
that maybe we didn’t mean.

I mean
does it really matter
who cut WHOM off
or whose fault it is
or whose mother sucks seminal fluids from retarded children?
Is that really so important?
Isn’t the bigger issue that we’re all human?

I mean,
I have parents
cousins
kids that I tutor,
and I’m sure you have people who care for you, too.

Aren’t we both interested in freedom and peace
prosperity
and Yankees’ victories?
Don’t we really know what matters?

So, look:
if someone has to take the first step,
let it be me.

I’m sorry
if there’s anything I did
that you took offense at
and I’m willing to drop this entire argument
if you are.
Forget about whatever it is we said earlier.
Forget about the damage to our cars
and let insurance deal with it.

If you
are willing
to forego hostilities,
then we can just go on with our lives.
We can go home
watch our favorite shows.
We can relax.
I can get off my knees
and stop begging you not to kill me.

What do you think
of this impartial proposal?

You’re not the right girl for me.
I realized that
right after the kneeling
when you said yes
and cried
and said you were so happy
and ecstatically cried
that we’d be together
til one of us died.

That mention of mortality
and the years left
and what would be done with them
got me thinking
and reeling
and the walls rose
as I collapsed
and though I said it was the joy
that left me weightless
and losing my legs,
in fact it was something else.

You’re not the girl for me.
You’re not the one.
You’re not the future I anticipated
the girl I’m been waiting for
the friend and boon companion
that will see me through all that’s left.

You and I
may have a year left in us
if you’re still willing to talk to me
after rescinding the ring
but I foresee little more in us.

It’s so clear now
and I’m sorry
it took me so long
to realize we were so wrong
for each other.

You know I’m right.
Or
you will
in the final analysis
when you look back on these silly times.

So
if you could return my ring
and maybe the keys to our apartment
we can let the healing begin.

Look,
I can’t fault you for being scared.
I understand
if the city seems overwhelming
imposing
or omnipotent.
I get it.
You’re not woman enough
to hack it
here, where
if you can make it,
a reciprocal relationship is put into place elsewhere.
Everywhere, in fact.

There’s no shame in admitting your limits
your inadequacies
your inability to accomplish anything
– anything important, I’ll allow.
If you can’t deal with the fast pace
the quick thinking
the requirements, expectations and atrocities
of Big Town,
it’s all right.
It’s OK.

I wish it weren’t like that.
I’d hoped you would have more grit.
I wanted you to be stronger
but
if you’re not,
then you’re not.
If you have to run home,
legs around tail,
then so be it
and so long!
Don’t let the door hit you
as you flee.
And one more thing:
Don’t go.

Hey
before this conversation goes any further,
before you get to the crux of your philosophy
and how much it could help me
let me just say this:
you don’t count.

You’re not one of the people
whose opinion I value.
Your experiences are not those I wish to emulate.
Your advice is unsolicited
unappreciated
and will hopefully go unheard.
You don’t count
and I’m sorry I gave you the opinion
that you might.

Really,
that was irresponsible
of me.
I should have let you know
at first glance
how little I think of you
how irrelevant your thoughts,
how incessant your irksome oration.
I should have provided clarity the first time you piped up
that you should pipe down
turn off
shut up.

I take full blame
for letting you think you count
but now
it’s time to right the course
and inform you what’s what
and what isn’t
and you
isn’t.

I carry gum now.
Since cleaning out my dad’s closets
and drawers
and cabinets and pockets
I have found pack after pack
of gum after gum.

His mouth got dry
so he had prescribed products for that
but found
that chewing anything did the trick
so I now have collected
hundreds of solid sticks of spearmint.

This, then
is my inheritance.

Also inherited
is a predilection for parsimony
so, with this new wealth of peppermint
collecting dust,
I have found a need
to knead.

Now
if you see me
walking around
my jaws flapping
and we start to chew the fat
but my mouth is gnashing full
with gum
and I end up offering you some
it is all because of my inheritance
and my interest in spending it.

You.
You look at me
and you see the result.
You see what is
and what hasn’t happened.
But you’re also missing what hasn’t happened
– if you get my meaning.

You see what will never happen in me
but I’m focussing
in what hasn’t happened YET.
You are seeing the failure
but missing the potential.
You think this container
(Me. I’m the container. Why aren’t you getting this)
is closed
is thrown
is done
and gone.

I know, though,
that I am a vessel of potential
that has not been expressed
or experienced
anywhere near its fullest.

You’ll see.
You’ll see the difference in me
eventually.

– or maybe you won’t.
Perhaps to you
I will always be this failed experiment
but I know better
or, at least,
I know different.