jonberger

I think, by now, it’s clear:
things are not going the way
either you or I expected.
You keep telling me to watch what I say
but I can’t help but reverse it.

I am constantly staring at your mouth
watching the words that escape your lips.
I can see them
evil moths
rambling throughout the air
going wherever they want
poisoning all the way.

I see you spew your venom
at me
and everybody within listening distance
and I am transfixed.
Why do I stay so close
where your barbs
so visibly toxic
can cut and burn so deep?
What keeps me near that wretched maw
so hungry for pain?

I suppose there is beauty
in your cruelty
though it is not what I wanted from you
though you
probably hoped
that I would be a better friend, too
and not inspire such venom.

I hid the cake under the microwave
in the drawer
with the disinfectants
because I suspected
you wouldn’t be going anywhere near there
anytime soon.

I hid the cake
– what was left of it –
under a towel
so even if you were in a mood to clean –
sorry. Bad joke.
– even if you were looking for something rarely seen,
like a peanut sheller,
a carrot grater
or a scale
you would not get a clear view
of that dark monstrosity.

I hid the cake
that you once claimed was so delicious
but now say is quite deadly.
I hid the cake
that must be destroyed
for you to attain happiness.
I hid it
so you would not be tempted.

I hid the cake
the cake you told me to throw out.
I hid it
so that when you change your mind
dump the diet
and ask me to buy a new one
I can save some scratch.

I really wish you’d given me your real name
when we were making out
on that Greenpoint roof
last week.
I doubted that you would
– it seemed so unlikely there would be a Mabel
in this day and age
but it was my grandmother’s name
and I thought that it was some kind of sign
like you were meant for me,
someone with unique qualifications
to be in my life.
You said you were Mabel
but I saw you as Hope.

But I guess Mabel wasn’t who you really were
like that ring
on your wedding finger
was probably not a family heirloom
and that sore on your face
was probably no big deal.
I wanted to believe in you, Mabel,
and I did
last week
in that Greenpoint roof
where I didn’t know too many people
so you could be
whomever you needed to be.

I could probably find out more.
I knew Enrique
and you seemed friendly with his friend.
Maybe there’s a way
to track you down.
But you probably don’t want that
like you probably didn’t want me
the way you seemed to
on that warm Wednesday
in that quiet roof
Late into the night
with no one to watch us
but the birds.

I wonder what they thought of us,
if they understood what went on
better than I did
if they knew the numbers were wrong,
the name was false,
and the moment was not very special at all.

I could have lived you
and quickly.
And I do miss you, Mabel
whoever you are.

Pansy Maybe

I’m all right.
Don’t worry about me.
I meant to do that thing,
banana split falling
into this snowdrift
blocks and blocks
from my destination.

It was planned, see?
I’m here for a reason.
Don’t you worry about me;
this is intentional.
I’m waiting here
for Bernard.

I don’t know if that’s his real name
but why else would you call
a wild St. Bernard
roaming your neighborhood
that digs up your garden
no matter the season?
Pansy, maybe?

He’ll come here eventually.
I’m wearing this floral pattern camouflage
after all
how could he resist?
He will come to me,
Bernard will,
and I’ll lay still
and then that macroscopic mutt will get his comeuppance
and I will be the biter of the snow dog.

It won’t bring back all my gardens of Christmas past
but at least it will protect the next –
What?
The St. Bernard’s not wild?
She’s yours?
And her name IS Pansy?
Hm.

Could you help me up?

Ghost 6

I always knew you’d go
which may be why you left
but doesn’t change the fact
that I go on
living through
echoes of you.

In the halls
pix on walls
voice memos from saved calls
it might gall you
how much
I still live in your presence
though you live in SoCal.

Maybe you know.
Maybe you knew
just how it would be
here in Schenectady
where I remain fucking your ghost
in chains of ice
with you so far away.

Your college dog is dead.
That T-shirt you got as a gift
from the girl who just thought of you
as a friend
(yeah, that one)
has got a hole in the front
from when you poked it too hard
during spring cleaning.

Your favorite snack food of yesteryear
has been rebranded
gone bankrupt
and is now, unsatisfyingly, back
aiming itself at a nostalgia market
that wants to relive glory days,
rejoice in a past gone golden,
hazy,
limited to soundbites and snapshots
of better times.

They may have been better.
They may not – it doesn’t matter
either way.
They were then
and now they’re gone
and either way
you won’t ever be able
to walk those hills again with Buster
because your college dog is dead.

She is an encyclopedia
filled with information
on a variety of important subjects:
“I can recite pi to the fortieth digit,” she says.
“I know the birthdays of all of the Founding Fathers,” she states.
“That’s not a preposition,” she exclaims,
“And anyway, that sentence ain’t where it’s at.”

She tells me how to ride a bike
And how to sweep the floor
and how to eat an apple.
She’s got a lot on the ball.
She’s got a lot on her mind
She’s got a whole lot to say.

Her information is extended
intellectual
and annoying.

She is encyclopedic in her knowledge
and will remain so
I suspect
until
I break her spine.

What a strange coincidence, she said,
seeing you here.
You’re not stalking me, are you?

You have got quite the opinion of yourself,
I answered,
believing that I’m here
in any way, shape or form
because of you.

I mean, you’re right, of course,
I continued, how could you not be?
You are the reason I wake in the evening
and sleep into dawn.
You are the music in my coffee
and the milk in my tree.
You’re the kind of girl that inspires me
in all things
– legal, carnal
and otherwise.

I am here
solely because
I thought there was a chance
a possibility
a slim opportunity
that I might be able to see you
to talk to you
to have your smile rest upon my eyes.

I can only thank those dark ladies
I pray to when you are not around
that they have fulfilled my wish.
You are pretty full of yourself,
though, to think all that.

She laughed nervously
and walked off, prepared to hide her ego better in the future while I swore to myself
to be less honest next time.

The yogurt
on the bottom shelf
of my overstocked refrigerator
seems to no longer be yogurt
but rather
some other thing entirely.
Something sentient.
Something inedible.

The yogurt
once unearthed
from beneath last month’s pizza
and last summer’s carrots
and last year’s pickle assortment
had burst out of its container
and seeped up into the previously-mentioned foodstuffs
which, in retrospect,
perhaps should no longer be considered “foodstuffs”
but rather
“invading mutants.”

I am not frightened by this yogurt
which may be smarter than I
– it’s certainly better cultured –
but I am wary of it
and have given it and its allies
free rein in the kitchen
and adjoining hallway.
I may soon have to move
admitting defeat to the liberating yeast.

Perhaps I should clean
my refrigerator more often
or hire a chef.

Your facial hair
is a foolish, fallacious failure.
It embarrasses you,
your forefathers
and faithfully warrants you’ll be no one’s forefather yourself.
It’s ugly
is what I’m saying.

Your beard is dumb.
It’s misshapen
and it’s no wonder that its presence keeps you alone
and cold at night.
It’s too wispy to provide you any warmth
– not that you deserve anything more
with that crap on your chin.
Get it off.

I’ve never been one much for fashion
never cared too much
how anyone conducted themselves
so long as they first did no harm
which is why I’m haranguing you about this thing.
Your beard harms all those in your presence
damaging destinies
in whatever vicinity of visibility occurs around you.

It’s a bad state,
that beard is
and
right here
I have ten dollars
to go to a fund
to get you free of it.
I may even know a barber
who will take the case pro bono.
Anyone would be pro-fixing
such a bone heading move.
Get rid of that shit right away.