jonberger

Getting the house to myself
is rare rare rare.
Sometimes,
I like to get fired
just so I can have the time
in front of the TV
– or alone in the bathroom
with no one else seeking entry
– or just the chance to hear my own thoughts
(which usually involves experimental forms
of masturbation).

Of course,
it never lasts:
I always get a new job too quickly
– because I’m so employable –
and the only time I have in my house
is shared…
with my family
whom I love
despite my inability
to come up with any reasons.

A few minutes of silence
is sometimes
something to die for.
(Sidewalk Open Mic Challenge)

It was late in the game
when the opportunity unfolded:
“You can join our band,
our nation-touring
record-selling
drink-devouring band,
after we’ve put in so many years
flying our freak flag
telling the kids to follow.
You want to be a a part of it,
now that we’ve done the heavy lifting?”

What could he say?
Slim joined the band,
replacement guitarist
for the Replacements.

The deal was too good to be true,
of course,
and the band said “Never mind”
– just around the time
someone else did.
Fame was his for a day or two
when he told Bob “I’ll be you,”
but soon, it was over.

He couldn’t be too sad about it,
though.
Success always had a Slim chance
to begin with.
(Sidewalk Open Mic Challenge)

Sixteen, blueballed,bent all out of shape
by a fucking school
filled with hundred dollar grooms,
folk stars and soldiers of misfortune,
I was nothing but a dope smoking moron,
white and lazy,
treatment bound.

I had nothing.
I was nothing but a rock and roll ghost
until you took hold of my life
stole my dyslexic heart
and returned instead
a replacement.

A better beast was made
one who would dare
an actor in the street,
no longer a passerby.
I became a man who moved
and moved where you required.
You could take me anywhere.
Someone take the wheel
so you can kiss me
on the bus.

Now
you are stuck with me.
Here comes a regular
around your parts.
You can’t lose me
– not until Johnny’s gonna die.

And even then,
I would grant you one final deed:
permission to find another
so that you can inherit the earth
with my replacement.

(Sidewalk Open Mic Challege)

LES IS

Les is a moron.
Not that it’s a bad thing
but don’t cheat off of his tests
or have him do your taxes
or, you know,
pick up lunch.

Les is a moron.
He repeated first grade,
but thinks it’s because he was so good,
they needed him to model
for the other kids.
I don’t know where he heard that,
but the fact that he believes it?
Les is a moron.

Les is a moron
but it’s not entirely obvious
so when you meet him,
you may not realize.
Not even on the first date
or the second, or…
Oh.
Fourth date?

Oh.

Well, he’s a good guy, Les,
even if he is a moron.
You two may be very happy together,
so long as you like that sort of thing
or can learn to live with it
like I have.

He IS my best friend…

IMAGINATION AND EXCUSES

The boys who promise you the moon
are liars
– or misleaders,
at the least.
If they had moons to offer,
why not simply wrap and present?

It’s because they don’t have no moon
stupid
– they never do.
If they had stars in their pockets
or even in safes,
the gravity would ruin all their property.

The boys with promises
have little to provide
but imagination and excuses.
It is the problem with all boys
who are poets
and poor
and promisers of the improbable.

YO YO ZERO

This burger here?
It needs a grease job.
Just slobber that lovely lubrication
all over this baby
– don’t be shy.
Slather. Spread.

This burger needs it.
It needs something
different from the regular state of affairs.
Fix the burger, babe.
Grease it.