jonberger

When I was young

there was this thing called ‘pop music.’

People would turn on their players,

And then they would listen to the tunes

that everybody else seemed to enjoy.

Nobody enjoyed this music

but it was the way of the world

And everyone pretended to.

No,

it was not the music of ‘Pops.’

In fact, it was mostly for kids.

In those days

there was this thing called ‘transportation’

and it allowed people to go from place to place

to place.

Folks would travel like that,

leaving their homes and the immediate environs

to explore and experience the new and the different.

Oh! And there was difference!

Society was less generic.

There was deviation.

There was variation.

There were alternatives

to what had happened before.

And there was a ‘before,’

A separation from the indescribable now

that we constantly enjoy today.

Things were different then.

Things seem fresher.

Things seemed…

I can barely imagine how things seemed

or what it was like

or how we survived

in that far-off past.

t was so long ago.

You really don’t remember?

Are you sure you weren’t there?

A pope once said shut the fuck up.
A pope once said kill the other. He is not to be trusted.
A pope once said
I speak with an authority that none other may muster for only I have the lips of god whispering to me
and that’s
that’s something special.

A pope once said
I’m hungry. You hungry? I could eat…
A pope once said
No thanks. I’m trying to cut down.
A pope once said – once –
aren’t we forbidden from doing this?
In mean, really?

A pope once said
Fuck it.
A pope once said I’m a woman.
You know what a pope never said?
Nothing.

You look old.
You look tired.
You look weak
and weary
and worried and winded
and white
– white as a sheet.
You look beat.
You seem bloodied.
You seem bombed into submission
by years and fears and tears
and dear friends gone away.
You seemed frayed.

You’re afraid of what’s to come
you’ve been run around in circles
raved off the track
– you won’t be back this way again
or if so,
there’s no telling when.
You’re forgotten.
You’ve fought yourself sick
and are ready to forfeit.
You’re fit to be put down.

You are….
You seem…
You look…
it ain’t good.

My poem is better than your poem.
The thoughts in my head
are purer
more evocative
stronger
– and faster too.

I can write deeper than you
with greater wit and cleverosity
– and more evocative consonants.
You’ll find more rhythmic references to French history
and French fries
in my latest work
than you have ever written.

My books
Are thicker
and denser
and darker
and dirtier
than yours.

I’ve got it all over you
writingly.
You got it?
Great.
Now please,
can I see Pulitzer?
Oh.
May I?

The exterminator is sick of me
with my calls and my begging
and my incessant offers of Reals
to get the job done.
‘Stop calling!’ he says ‘and leave me alone.
‘You do not have tortoises in your ceiling!’

O! Mi dio!
He doesn’t understand
or refuses to see.
But I know.
There is something haunting my halls
a creature crawling beneath the roof
a beast that defies description
but remains
a tortoise in the ceiling.

The exterminator will not come
or even speak to me any more
so I am left alone
with this thing prowling my presence
a creaking
just out of reach.
An alien
is amongst me
and I can do naught about it
– and don’t get me started
on the hares in my drain.

I couldn’t do what she did.
I could never survive in isolation
without family
friends
and the Internet to keep me whole.
It would be painful.
I would be suicidal.
It would be unsatisfying.

I could never do what she did.
I could not live
holed away,
watching the world from a distance
but unable to interact.
Solitary confinement
does not suit me, see?

I would not be capable of the life that she led
a ghost in a world unused to own.
I could not hide my life away.
It would never work for me.

I could not do it.
I could never live in the attic
so longer.
I suspect
I would sooner die.

Glorious Return

Did it hurt
when you came down from up above
to join us again?
Did it feel strange
to come back among us,
to rejoin your former companions
and act like everything’s normal?

We got by without you.
You must know that.
We learned
eventually
to survive without your help
or support
or beauty
and patience.
We found ways
somehow
to get back to some version of stability
with you out of our lives.

And now
you’re back from outer space
and I find you here before me dear
with that sad look upon your face.
I should have changed that stupid lock
but then you always knew
how to get back in my good graces.

You always knew
there was a place for you here
with me.
Oh, god.
Welcome home.

I swear,
I hear you
everywhere.

When I’m alone,
when there’s nothing to distract me,
I suspect
that you are with me.
I believe
despite your prolonged absence
that you are near.

I hear you
walking by
just above my head
just out of reach.
It happens so often
that I barely think about it
until I do.

I thought I’d gotten over it
but it’s painfully clear
how I am not over you.
Not in the least.
I still miss you.

Life happens.
Change happens.
I know that. I get it.
I understand the circle of life
the winds of time
the torture of the temporary.

I just thought
like the tree out back
you’d be there for me
as long as could be.
I thought we’d have as much to see
in the future
as we had history.

Or
I didn’t think it
so much as believe.
Had I spent time knowing
I could lose you, Manuela,
I would have treated you better
tickled you more
righted you when you go turned around.

I wish I had done more when I could
sweet girl.
Now, I can do nothing
but raise eyes heavenward
and miss you.

It’s not blasphemy when it’s true.
Muhammad Ali said that
when he abandoned Malcolm X
but it’s just as true for me
when I state like Beatles
just the facts.
I am his superior.
I am bigger than Jesus.
Taller than Jesus.
Wider and more well read.
I am older than he ended up
and balder than he likely ever got.
I have been to more continents than Jesus
– but not by much.

I am perhaps more Christian
– though we share the same Israelite overlord –
since I eat bacon every damned day
and take everyone’s name in vain.
I am more of a Christian
by being less of a Jew.

I’m not asking for your faith
– though I wish you’d listen without prejudice.
I’m just saying,
it’s no big deal.
He was a pretty modest guy
and I think I can see why.