jonberger

Don’t fuck my wife.
Be a pal.
Leave her alone.
It’s not cool
fucking a guy’s wife
without his permission.
Yes, I KNOW you have hers.
I’m choosing to disregard that fact
and will ask you again
– nay. I shall TELL you
not to fuck my wife.

It’s not right.
It’s not fair
considering what you’re packing
and what she’s used to.
You’ll probably scare the old girl.

Leave her alone. Leave her be.
Leave her to me.
Please, Joe?
I’m begging you:
do not take her, man.

Don’t fuck my wife.

It’ll be much easier now. After this
nothing else will seem so dangerous
or threatening
or bad.

From this day on
as you look on any challenge
you will be able to snort
and laugh
and realize no matter how bad it was,
it will not compare to today
where you faced your biggest challenge
and you failed.

Nothing else will be so significant
or as tragic.
No threat so large
no prize so magnificent
not possibility so perfectly crushed.

Everything will go smoother from now on
for there will be no hopes left to dash.
Your life will be softer now
less difficulty.

That was not meant
to make you feel better.

You have two and a half hours to do what you swore you’d do a month ago.
You have failed to keep your word
and are struggling
now
to correct your prior mistakes.

You are late.
It is lamentable
how lame you are.
Your procrastination has led you to this moment
– a moment you might never have noticed
if you hadn’t fucked off for so long
on so many pointless projects.

Why couldn’t you keep up?
Why do you have to fail
so grievously

so frequently?
What is wrong with you?

No
that was rhetorical.
I know you have more important things to do.
You’re in the middle of catching up
on a whole summer’s homework
in the hours before class.

What did I do so wrong
for you to be like this?

Let’s say Thursday, shall we?That’ll be the day
you make it up to me.
Thursday will be when you seek absolution
for the things you did
– you know what they were.

Thursday
is when you’ll make it right
make restitution
resolve that
which is still outstanding.
Do what has to be done
so we can just get past this, all right?

I wouldn’t call it a deadlineor an ultimatum
so much as your final chance to make right

the many wrongs you’v’e wreaked.
You will get it done
on Thursday
or
I don’t have to tell you what comes next
do you?

Fine.
I guess you’ll just have to see
tomorrow
which is Thursday.

Where are you, Spring,

you deceitful bitch

you slut,

you mouse in the shadows?

Where are you hiding?

Where are you staying

away from me

away from those

that miss you so?

I need you, Spring.

I need you close

I need you near

I need you coming toward me

kissing me with mysterious lips

gracing me with your warmth

and good vibrations.

Why would you hide?

What’s your disguise?

What would keep you from my prying eyes?

I want to see you, Spring,

and want it soon.

And

I can see I’m being selfish

and I have no way to motivate you to come home.

I know I have no means to cajole you

to convince you that what I want

is best for both of us

– but it is.

It is!

Please come back, Spring.

It’s been too long

and it’s so cold here

without you.

I ruin everything I touch.
I just received a lovely gift
from a lovely girl
and now
it’s gone.
I got it seven minutes ago
and already it’s squandered.

I am the worst.

I lost the flag.
I lost it.
I didn’t mean to
didn’t want to
but I lost it
right away
and now
nobody will know
that this koala bear I wear
is from Australia.

Without the flag
it could be from Swaziland
or Spain
or maybe the Barclay Civic Center.
Alas, identity!
And
just as disguised as the bear’s identity
is my self-disgust
which is no less felt for its hidden nature.

I am sorry
sweet bearer of gifts.
I am sorry
poor flag-free marsupial.
I am sorry for all that I have done
and all that I failed to do.

No one should ever give me anything
ever again.

Before I begin this piece
a little bit of context:
this is not going to be one of those navel-gazing mumblecore ‘poems’
about girls
and what they do to me
– or what they don’t.

This isn’t another one of those proto-suicidal rants
where I complain about every last thing
while subconsciously presenting how guilty I am
of the very same offenses
that I condemn.
I did two of those yesterday.
I’m fresh out.

This is not a clever ditty full of puns
or light limerick about pubs
or a daring demonstration of hockey pucks.

This is nothing like anything you’ve ever seen before
because its words.
And it’s like nothing you’ve ever digested
because its tasteless.
And it’s akin to no smell before
although it might stink.

This is something new
this piece
and I thought you should know
before we begin.
And so,
allow me to begin:

I.
Please allow me introduce myself:
I’m Satan!

II.
Please allow me introduce myself,
I’m Satan
and I do bad things.
It’s the way I am.
Sorry.

III.
Hey, yo!
I’m Satan.
I got something to say:
I’m gonna do naughty things
in the naughtiest way.
If you don’t like it
Best get out of my way!
YEAH!

IV.
Oh, the hell with this…