jonberger

Dream sweetly
Think kindly
Smile brightly
Live healthy
Drink deeply
Act rightly
Be happy
until
you see me.

Then, we can think of other verbs
and how to use them.

Here’s the thing:
I am in then party habitat
listening to the band
from a polite distance
playing the grooviest tunes
of my favorite generation.
I am in my place of power
where everyone knows my name
shakes my hand
celebrates me with shouts.
I am mellow
enjoying a Sour Grape
on the stomach of the most platinum of blondes
wearing the skittish of shirts
until she took it off.

But here’s the thing;
Something is missing
and I can deny what is diminished
this obvious emptiness.
I can name it
but I don’t want to.

You could.
You could identify
in a second
just what I needed
if
in your presence
I still found myself wanting.
You could always center me.

And here’s the thing:
As I look up
into a cloudless sky
as I rest upon this chick who is not you
I see no celestial presence.
The skies are empty.
You were always my North Star
and now
I have nothing to guide me.

I look at you sometimes
and I’m shocked.
It’s hard to imagine
what I saw in you
back then
when I saw something in you.

You were charming,
sure,
beaming megawattage my way
ir the way of the innumerable suitors
too stupid to see through your vapid guise.
You were pretty
in a cliched sort of way
looking like some pale imitation
of the hot starlet of the day
(even then, it was clear,
you wouldn’t age well).

You were clever enough
I suppose
to enhance your best qualities
with smoke, mirrors and drugs
to make you seem like the finest you
you could be
and I could not see through it.

I believed in you.
I worshipped you.
I had faith
that you were special
and you were for me
and we were destiny.
I was suffering blood loss,
I guess
and not thinking so straight.

But I see better now.
I realize what you are
what you were
and I’m not angry.
I’m not upset at you
anymore
I just know how dangerous you could be
and I just wish you’d stay away.
Stay away.
Stay…

Marry me.

It was a mistake.
You have no idea how sorry I am.
If I could use the wayback machine
to go back in time
and rectify this situation
believe me
I would.
I would revise our history
erase my actions
of the last eight hours
and start fresh.

I would not have flirted with her.
I would not have introduced her to our table
if I thought
for a minute
if the possible repercussions
but of course
I could never have anticipated the repercussions
for a girl like that
is never meant to be seen
with a boy like me.
It doesn’t happen.
It could not have been planned.

I’m sorry I bought her that drink.
Those drinks.
That pony.
I shouldn’t have gone off with her
dancing and dick-slobbering.
I should have been friendly,
sure,
gotten her number
in case she ever wants to invite me
to another Fortune Fifty party
or maybe blow me again.

It’s just…
I mean
you got a look at her right?
She was fantastic
and classy
and slutty and fine and
a girl like that
and me –
it doesn’t happen.
I don’t get to talk to girls like that.
I get girls like you.

I had to
I was biologically required to
investigate.
And I uncovered quite a few things
and I’m not proud of it
and I’m incredibly sorry
and it will never happen again
unless she gave me her real number.

I keep forgetting how wonderful you are
how luminous your eyes
how beautiful your jokes.
When I turn away
I cannot recall how exciting it is
to see you looking at me
and what that look can do.

Constantly, it seems,
I disregard how smart
how wise you are,
how much your arguments activate
and how your counsel so effortlessly redirects my course.

I do not take you seriously enough
because you are seriously amazing.
I don’t say it enough.
I don’t think it enough.
I don’t present my adoration enough
but I can still be thankful
that you’re here to remind me.

No
that wasn’t an earthquake you heard
not a peal of thunder
not a cannon ejaculating pig iron balls.
It was not a building collapsing
or a car backfiring
or a elementary school dismissal
on the lower east side.

This was nothing so prosaic.
This was nothing so simple
like a sun in supernova
or the applause after Queen Bey’s latest.
This was no simultaneous five truck collision
or even Uncle Morty
after some bean dip.

It was nothing real you heard
but rather
the potential
of the sound
of the thud
of all my hopes
crashing in the sidewalk
if you won’t go out with me.

It’s pretty loud
that future sound
and it would no doubt hurt your pretty little ears
I’ll bet
if you had to hear it again
so
shall I repeat the question?

He would have been four
today.
He would have been happy
in this new home
where he could have run and played
and enjoyed everything we cannot
without him.

Today
he would have been four
and we would have celebrated
maybe
and gotten him something nice
– not chocolate.
He wouldn’t want chocolate.
He would have have fun today
on his birthday.

He would have been four
and we would be three
or four ourselves by now
– or even more
if he weren’t gone.
If you hadn’t been so stupid
to leave the gate open.

He would have been four
today
unless he’d gotten cat leukemia.

When you come to me
you can be whomever you want to be.
When you visit my world
you can define yourself however you wish.
After all
I can’t say how you live
away from me.
I don’t know your real address
or who you share it with.

Your secrets are safe with me
mostly because they are safe from me.
While here
you can be anyone you want
and I will love that one
as well as I can.

Come to me.
Be with me.
I will make it worth your while
whoever you are.

You liked me.
You did.
I could tell
from the things you said
and the things we did
and the things I didn’t have to do
because of how much you said liked me.

You thought I was something pretty special
then.
You were totally into me!
Even my faults seemed somehow charming
when you thought I was Bruce Wayne.

That was my mistake.
I’ll own it.
I should have corrected you
when you saw me in my tux
and the name tag that read “Bruce Wayne.”
I just…
you were so pretty
and I guess I was stunned  silent.

But you liked the attention
when you had Gotham’s Most Eligible
on your arm.
You appreciated
the power and notoriety
that I
– OK, fine –
that Mister Wayne was able to provide.
You really thought I was cool
before.

Couldn’t you just look past this little deceit
and like me
like you used to do?
You would
if I were Bruce.

I’m sorry I delivered you so late to the airport.
I did not anticipate that level of traffic
nor the street fairs and revolutions
that seemed to pepper our way
to your terminal destination.

I did not think the car would have so much trouble
going over 15 miles an hour.
It rarely has a chance to open up like that in the city.
I thought the service at Rao’s would be faster, too,
I swear.

I’m sorry the trip took so long
and that I tripped over all your baggage
and how I had so much metal on me
while walking you to the gate.
I wanted to help you.
I hoped to be caring.

I was, you know: caring. 
I cared too much
about your departure
and was too invested in your trip.
I was lackluster in taking you to Delta
because I didn’t want you to go.

I thought, perhaps,
I could delay your departure
and keep you with me a little longer.
I simply did not anticipate
the airline’s incompetence
would dwarf mine.

So I’m glad you got your plane
and I hope you have a safe trip
and wish you will come back
real soon.