jonberger

When the Beatles get back together
– and they surely will
(when George said the Beatles would not reunite
so long as John remained dead,
he was joking,
and anyway, he’s dead now himself,
his word can’t possibly be worth so much now) –
it is unclear to me
in just what kind of configuration
they will be.

With two remaining members,
will they draft Julian and Dharma
(or whatever little Harrison’s kid may be)
to replace their pere’s
or perhaps ask Eric Clapton and snarky Dylan
to carry their weight?
Perhaps they’ll continue as a two-piece,
not half the men they used to be.
The could call themselves the Beat
– if the General Public allows –
or, if they want the hipster market,
maybe go by the LES.
They could, alternately, be called The Bals,
or, similarly, Teete.

Oh, the places they’ll go:
Hamburg
back to the USSR
Strawberry Lane and Penny Fields,
Kansas City or through the bathroom window
on a magical mystery tour
with Polythene Pam, Sexy Sadie, Anna, Michelle,
lovely Rita and so many more.

They’d be Mac Daddies.
They’d be Starrs.
They will be fab and gear.
They’d be grand
once they bring back that band.

It’s painful to read our correspondence.
I see who we were
for that short time
and I wish
I were back there
– then –
and you were with me
and we were doing the things we used to
like writing each other
and trying to be together
before we found a way
and then found
it wasn’t worth it.

I read back on those few short notes
we wrote to one another
back then
where
we were honest with each other
but not with ourselves.

We thought our path was destined
and it was
– but it was a different path.

I don’t like to look over
those truths we shared
that soon became lies.

I do not enjoy it
but I return to them
too many times.

That fucking Meyer
with his suits
and that holier than Mao attitude.
Who does he think he are?
I do not like Meyer
I do not.

Did you hear
just last week
he went and took a dump in the basement.
Who does that?
OK, I do
but I’m entitled.
Not Meyer
he acts like he DESERVES things.

Goddamn Meyer.
He is…
It’s just…
He…
YOU KNOW!

You need to know
what goes on
behind their doors.
You have to listen to me
about what’s happening.
You’ve got to understand
the direness of the situation.

It’s evil that is happening.
It’s criminal what they will allow.
It’s ridiculous that no one had stopped then
– that no one even knows
what they’re up to –
It’s awful that no one will pay attention
as I try to tell the truth
about the Three Little Pigs.

Debbie Gibson’s fan club
shut its doors today.
The president
finance officer
and promotions team
all decided
that she couldn’t waste any more time
in a club
with one member.

Debbie Gibson’s biggest fan
couldn’t carry the torch alone
anymore.
She had to find something better
with which to spend her days.

The Electric Youth fan club closed its doors today
and the Frente! Fan of America
was finally born.

When the new Sinead album was coming out,
I was excited.
My girlfriend had introduced me to her music
and her bald head
months before
hat girl’s love for me had faded
inead had not.

Driving through borders
the radio told me
a new song from Sinead was coming.
“It was written by Prince,” said the radio,
“You will like it.”

And it began
and I did
and the reception was hazy
and the sound was lazy
and I stopped the car on the side
to hear what compared to me
– which was nothing.

And the song faded
and I did not cry
but my passengers yelled at me to get going
so we drove on
to a record store
which was closed
since it was late.

It took me days to buy the album
which I wanted very much
until I got it
and have it still.
It is incomparable.

Golden Earring was a one hit wonder
– twice –
here in the US
with a hit song every decade
from the seventies
all the way
to the eighties.

They used radar love
to find the twilight zone
and never returned
at least to our shores.

In their home
those four
are bigger than Jesus
(who never grew especially tall
in the Netherlands)
and are,
in fact,
a thirty hit wonder.

They have survived the vagaries of fashion
for over fifty years
over there.
Here,
they are little more than
two shimmering lights
– something akin
to golden earrings.

She tried to remain strong
in the face of his passion
his need for fusion
his poisoned needle seeking undue insertion.

She sought to stay unstickable.
“Come on,” he said, “Let’s.”
“Will you love me tomorrow?”
she asked.

“I swear,” he replied,
“I’ll love you ‘til the end of time.”

She somehow doubted him.
“You mean everything,” he begged,
“at this moment.”

She considered.
He pleaded.
He cajoled.
He asked this way and that,
pressing his point,
never stopping his barrage.

She did not break
but she did bend
and finally,
leaned in.

Dan Hartman is dead
and you don’t care.
His finest accomplishment
was ghosting the song
of a fake band
in a fantasy movie
that nobody really saw.

You might have seen it
but you probably don’t remember.
It was a great song
and the movie was great
in its strange little way
but
it didn’t go far
and neither did Dan
who is now dead.

He is like all of us
(no.
Not the dead part
– though a lot of us are like that,
too) in that
he accomplished much
but
in too small a way
for too many to care.

Who recalls Dan Hartman?
Even though he is like all of us
– the living ones
and the dead, as well.
Who thinks of him now?
Who can still dream about Dan Hartman?

Sit with me.
Drink with me.
Remember with me
the many who fought
and won
or lost something significant
during their own particular wars.

Celebrate with me
here and now
and recall fondly
– or not –
the days of the Cola Wars
and the Talk Show Wars
and The Battle of The Network Stars.

Come with me
and spend a moment
considering what was lost
when Macy’s told Gimble’s
and May’s simply collapsed.
Relive our horror when the Subway Series was such a rout
just like Betamax
and Zima.

So many wars lost.
So many tragic victims…
It makes me want to go get high on glue
the winner of the War on Drugs.