jonberger

All Apologies # 006

I am sorry.
I’ll join you in a moment.
I got distracted here
by the fire.
It’s rare we use it, and
the flames require a certain amount of tending
to survive.

If I leave the fireplace alone
for too long
letting the heart of the heat
starve too long
we may lose this delicious warmth
and anyway
the licking flames hypnotize
pull you in
– or me, anyway.
I found myself lost in their primal delights
and lost all thoughts of anything else.

It is rare you are off my mind
and I hope you understand
it is only under these special circumstances
that I consider being warmed by anything
but your touch.
But in these isolated instants
please forgive me
if I long to be burned by another.

Ought For

Whenever there’s an earthquake
I think of you.
Remember
back in aught four
when we got caught on that hike
in the hills
and the ground opened up
swallowing leaves all around us?

That’s what goes through my head
when the ground begins to shake.
The world begins to quake
and I think about where we were
and how we handled it
and what happened next.

And I don’t know if you think the same
if the occasion was as rife with significance for you
if you’re even still in earthquake lands
or if you’ve found yourself in some safer climate.
Maybe you don’t know from Richter anymore
you certainly know nothing of me
but
when the floor gets unsettled
as it does occasionally
I remember those times
and become unsettled too.

The kid would have been ten now.

He
or she…
S/he could have been a runner
or a hockey player
or might’ve been hiding in the attic
reading books.
I’ll bet s/he would be a reader
like you.

I think back to then
and the worries
and dangers and costs of those days
and I can recall what went into
our options
and what was finally right.

What we did was understandable
and was the best choice
with the information we had.
I can’t gainsay our decisions
not with all the history
we’ve passed.
We did what was right
at the time,
I don’t doubt that

but
I also don’t doubt
how beautiful that girl
or boy
or hermaphrodite would have been
had we decided to let it.

Sh!
Quiet down.
Do you hear it?
It’s not loud
so listen carefully
and you might be able to hear
the last ice cream truck leaving town.

I’ve heard it before
in different years.
For a while
I could never identify that important transition,
never recognized that unscheduled occasion.
But eventually
I grew older
wiser and thinner
and I learned to take my frozen pleasures
while I could.

Now I know.
Now I listen.
Now I anticipate.
Now
I can tell
by the weather and date,
and humidity and the turn of the trees
I can see
it’s the time of the season for leaving
as Mister Freezey rolls away
until the cycle rolls around again.

OK
I admit it.

I fucked up.
I did it
and I want to clear the air
and if it means we have to make some changes
then changes we shall fucking make.
I fucked her.
That girl.
You know,
the girl?
Yes, her.

Look:
I fucked her because you wouldn’t fuck me.
I fucked her because you won’t TALK to me.
Not really.
Not in a while.
I fucked her because
because…
because I needed to hold someone again
and you’ve been gone for a while
and were distant long before that
and you’ve had a far-away look in your eye
practically since we met.

It’s like you weren’t really with me,
just near me,
and THAT almost by chance,
by happenstance,
because Lance wasn’t available
or any of those other boys
you so frequently mention
that sound so fucking amazing,
so much better than me.
I fucked her
because she made me feel worthy
of fucking her
and I haven’t felt that
in some fucking time.

I didn’t fuck her to hurt you
or to break us apart
or even to get my rocks off
(though I do feel a lot lighter without them).
I fucked her because
it felt good to be wanted
it felt good to touch someone
it felt good to be close
and I kind of want to do it again.

And maybe that’s the end of you and me
or maybe it’s a bump
and we can see our way past it
and this can bring us closer together
and we can –
Oh?
OK. Bye, then.
Give my regard to Lance.

Just because you’re sleeping with that guy
is no reason we can’t talk.
Just because you’re dating him
– married to him?
Fine, whatever –
doesn’t mean you can’t see me
too.

It needn’t be binary
nor so black and white.
You can add me to your diet
as an a la carte item.
I’ll take what I can get.

Just because you’ve already selected
who you’ll be buried with
is no reason you can’t live beforehand.
Include me
in your life.

I forgot already
the poem I wanted to write.
The idea
the inspiration
the foundation that I hoped would carry me through
one hundred words
has faded
and I can’t
for the life of the poem
recall what I had in mind.

They say
(and by “they,” I think I mean
the Military Creative Establishment)
that if you don’t remember something,
“It probably wasn’t that important anyway,”
and then laugh
their stupid self-satisfied Military Creative laugh
– I think.

And while I can’t prove then wrong
since – duh –
I can’t recollect the greatness of the lost,
I sense that something important
has been stolen
and I’ll not be content
until it returns.

I hope it does
while I still remember
that I used to be able to write.

Her dad likes me.
He asks me in whenever I pop by
takes me to the living room
and offers me Heart to Hearts.
Once
he offered me cigars
and showed me where he keeps the key to the liquor cabinet.
Her dad likes me.
She could care less.

I stop by frequently,
hoping she’ll make time for me.
He always does.
We get along great,
he and I.
He sees a lot of him in me.
I foresee a lot of me
in his daughter.
We don’t talk about that
– not with words
but he provides tacit approval,
I’m sure.

Her dad likes me
she tolerates me.
That’ll change, I’m sure,
eventually.
I’ll balance this out
with the right kind of appreciation
from the right member of the family.

In the meantime,
I’ll hang with the Johnson who will have me,
and smoke with him
and drink with him
and occasionally, when he asks,
oil wrestle with him.
Her dad really likes me.

She’s a well-traveled girl
going all around the world
seeing places I’ve never heard of
hearing tongues I’ve never touched.
She gets around, she does.
I can tell from what she says
and how she acts
but never what she does
when me and she
are together.

She’s gone just about everywherebut won’t go
all the way with me.

She’s experienced;
knows things
makes references
that make no sense to someone like me.
She’s prepared for every exigency
like a girl scout facing some cub.
She’s knowledgeable
has wherewithal
understands the land
and her place in it.
but she won’t let me place nothing.

She knows the lay of the land
and won’t let me lay
anywhere at all.

She’s got pictures in New York
Old York
York, Pennsylvania
Yorktown Heights
and a couple on York Avenue
by the water.
She looks glorious with that beautiful brown background
behind her.
When I’m with her

she never gets wet.

She’s forever been around the way
but when I ask, she’ll always say
"No way. Go away. It’s not Okay."
She never lets my fingers stray.
Even waylaid, she won’t say "Yea,"
My hopes betrayed.
Perhaps she’s gay.
I daresay it’s just not my day.

The candy I steal
from the drug store
is sweet.
Is it sweeter than the candy
I buy
when at the drug store?
Dunno.
I don’t buy candy at the drug store
ever.

I buy candy from a newsstand
or a wholesale club
or discounted at a ninety nine cent store
after the holidays.
But a drug store?
Why would I buy there?

Why would I steal from the drug store, though,
in particular?
Why not steal candy from a bank
or a baby
or from strangers?
Why not take candy from lawyers,
like my grandma always advised against?

I take my candy in drug stores
for free
as I pocket pieces,
providing them
to myself
as future payment
for things I haven’t offered.
Maybe it’s because drugs are bad
or candy is already sweet
or that a security guard at a Rexall tried to touch me decades back. I don’t know the cause
I just know I have a need
for speedily pulling off petty thefts
so I can have my fill
of Alexander the Grapes
or Smarties
or $100,000 Bars.

I guess I might just have a Steal Tooth.