jonberger

Now that we have all won,
we can discuss what went into our great victory today.
I don’t think it is any great secret:
our achievement came from cheating.

Just stealing points wherever we could,
using iron bats while our rivals used wood,
using evil schemes just whenever we could…
all of these plans inevitably would put us ahead
and we led our adversaries five to one,
and son of a gun,
like robbing nuns,
we fucking won!

I’d like to thank the academy of bad intent,
the internet of cruel inventions,
my associates in awfulness
for all that we have done together.
This victory is mine,
but you have also won
by watching me win it.

Thank you.

Tonight, I celebrate us
and our lack of it.
We were two once,
a united pair.
Now we are no more
and I am again free to celebrate
my solitude.
I thank you for that.

I thank you for the opportunity
I now have
to be here with myself,
to appreciate these days
with my Dinty Moore beef stew
and the goldfish.
Goldy Number Twenty Three hasn’t missed you yet,
but then, he was never the brightest of my little fishies,
was he?
I don’t know how much longer he’ll last
until joining the others down the flush.

I thank you for the learning
I got to do with you.
Maybe you learned something, too;
I don’t have your point of view.
Me, I learned that trust can be given,
but it really must be earned,
and I didn’t truly earn your trust.
I’m sorry for that,
and I hope to do better the next time around.
Perhaps when I am next no longer simply one.

And you: I hope you become two as quickly as you want to.
It seems you were on a quest to say “I do,”
and I hope your wishes come through.
If not with me, I hope you find someone who
makes you happy enough to become whatever you want to be.
I hope you finally become that free
and me, too.

Until then,
let us hold on to this night
so we can continue to treasure this bright chance
to be one
on our own
alone.

By the time she had left
she’d already been gone a while.
Without really thinking about it,
I’d kind of mourned her already.

She had just stopped talking to me.
After I had funded her move to New York,
she stopped returning my calls
and most of my emails.
after a couple of weeks of hurt,
I’d moved on to annoyance
and then a bit of exhaustion.
It was a pretty quick transition.

After I’d moved on,
she’d written to say she moved back
from where she’d come from
and my grieving process began again.
It sped up this time,
since I’d experienced it so recently
– and anyway, it wasn’t the first time
with this lady, anyhow.

I’d been used to disappointments from her
for a long time before.

Most of the disappointments
I deserved.
If you don’t ask for something,
it’s really unfair to be upset
with someone when they don’t give it you.
I hadn’t done my due diligence
to get what I wanted
so I had no one to blame
if she hadn’t provided me her love
or even her presence
when I came to visit.
What should I expect?

Nothing.
That’s what I’d get
from this point on.

The state of the apartment is a sight to see
– but not for delicate people.
Not for people of modern sensibilities,
I should say.
People of order,
people who like their wildness tamed,
who are frightened by piles
uncomfortable with filth
who dislike the dust,
they should stay away.

The dust is very much me,
after all.
The dust is my skin,
my afterthoughts.
Where I have brushed past
the dust remains.
It is inadvisable
to remain in the wake
of my flowing trash.
My stuff is with me
constantly.

And then there’s the time that the little girl I looked after
asked if I’d seen that girl Scarlett that I liked.
I told her, “No. I don’t think Scarlett likes me, really,”
and the girl seemed to pout a little.
“Well, is there anyone else?”
“Yeah… there’s this tall lady who, when she takes off her glasses,
looks like a goddess.”
The little girl brightened and asked for more details.
I did what I could to supply.

I didn’t say that I didn’t think she liked me, either,
that I was rotten and reading vibes,
and worse at acting on them.
I wasn’t going to tell a ten-year-old about my issues
with aversion to risk when I hadn’t gone into enough detail
with my therapist yet.

Clearly this would have to be addressed at a future point.
“So are you gonna ask her out?” The girl asked.
“Maybe,” I said, “Not yet, but maybe.”

“There may come a time,” The Philosopher said,
“When you will find something vitally important to you,
and you will not be able to keep it.
“It may be that you cannot afford it
or it does not wish to stay with you.
“It may be that he does not love you
or that she has died.
“It may simply be a celestial body that cannot come to you
in the first place, no matter how you may wish it.
“There are some things,” The Philosopher said, “That will
remain out of your grasp.

“This is important to know.
“This is important to understand.”

“Guards,” The King said, “Kill the Philosopher.”
They did his bidding
and in this way
the King did not learn the lesson
for quite some time.

I saw a man on the street with his hand out
so I reached into my pocket for a dollar to give
and pulled out a five.
I quickly looked for a single to replace it
and saw another five,
another five
and a twenty.

I knew he saw all these bills
and knew how it would look
if I spent any more time looking
for a smaller denomination
so I muttered, “Fine!”
and handed him the five.
“Thank you!” he said.
“Good luck,” I replied, and went on my way.

As I was about to stuff the bills back in my pocket,
I found the dollars.
“Perfect,” I said to the cruel gods of injustice,
who clearly hate me and the world around me,
“Just perfect.”

When we said goodbye in Florida,
I really thought we were saying “Goodbye.”
That was the plan for the trip, after all.
One visit to this lousy state, to visit our old friend Murray.
We had no idea how long he’d have left.
It seemed like his health was deteriorating,
even though he was younger than my Mom.

We would take the car on a train,
then drive the rest of the distance,
and spend a week with Murray.
It would probably be the last time we’d see him.

And it was a good week.
We left things on fine terms,
but certainly said nothing of final farewells,
for who would say such things outright?
Why would anyone be so barefaced and bald
in their truth like that?
So we just said “See you again,”
and left it at that.

And then another year or two passed,
and while Murray improved, he wasn’t in any state
to come up to New York,
so we arranged another trip down to the ridiculous
Fort Lauderdale
(There’s nothing actually wrong with Fort Lauderdale;
just where it is).

Murray’s a lot more mobile! He’s healthier,
and can get around far more easily than the other year.
Signs point to a much longer life.
So what were we worried about last time?
No goodbyes this time.
Much more of a “See you next time!” spirit.

Let’s just hope that it’s true.

Is it a tragic flaw if I don’t back up my poetry?
If I expect civilization to collapse
and the electrical aspect of civilization to come apart,
then isn’t saving my material on a hard drive just a waste of time?

But having said that,
isn’t it the height of idiocy that I haven’t backed everything up with printed copies?
I mean, what kind of a dummy am I?
Who’s the bigger fool:
the fool who calls himself out
or the fool who calls himself out, and refuses to print it, when he knows
print is the only thing that will survive this gasping world he’s in?

You don’t have to answer that.
I think I’ve figured it out…

The death did not break us much at all.
Perhaps it was that his process of dying was long
and consistent.
Perhaps we were not as close as we could have been.
Perhaps the love we shared was light on emotion
or has a delayed reaction built in
so that the grief has yet to be experienced.

Maybe there were earlier wounds
that made this parting easier to accept
even though he had changed dramatically
by the time of his death.

However the stiff is sliced,
we did not seem as affected at the end
as might have been anticipated.
Both my mother and I have been mildly surprised by this.
It has proven convenient, though.