jonberger

ERRORS OF THE PAST

There comes a time
when you must heed a certain call,
and rush to the bathroom
and get some shit done.
After that
it’s time to rock the resolutions.

I shall wash my sins away
cleansing myself of yesterday
starving myself of the bad
and stuffing myself
with what is to come.

I shall take up dancing.
I’ll find a job.
I will cease all smoking
of the legal variety.

I will become a better man
or, at least, a bigger one,
able to forgive my enemies with a single sound
and not only after their assassination.

Finally, I will drop some weight
– which is where you come in.
As I clean up the errors of the past,
I realize it’s half past time for us to part.
I’ve learned my lesson.
No longer will I worship at the altar of your ignorance.
I am done putting your vagina on a pedestal
– though you can do with it
what you want.
It makes no sense to me,
but then,
it’s not my concern
on this happy happy new year.

I know you wanna leave me
but you’re just no good at it.
You call,
telling me
“This is the last day of our acquaintance.”
but then you call again,
clarifying your position,
and, before hanging up,
let slip, “Talk to you later.”
You’ve got no conviction, see?
You can’t bring it home.

You keep trying to break up with me
keep attempting to end this thing
that you claim so toxic
but, maybe I’m too addictive
or maybe you’re too lonely
or maybe this thing we have
is too strong
to be shattered
by your word alone.
Anyway you slice it,
I’m still around.

Yes, I don’t go partying with you.
No, your friends don’t like me.
Maybe I don’t bathe often enough
for the government’s taste.
Perhaps there is room for improvement in me
– and certainly, for us
but you never can say goodbye
convincingly.

I guess you’ll just keep struggling
to quit me
and I’ll keep waiting
to see if it takes.

SPEAK HONESTLY

Excuse me, sir,
but I would like to shake your hand.
I have seen you here for but a few minutes
but in that time, you have become
something of a hero to me.

You,
as fat,
and as ugly,
and, frankly, as smelly
as you are,
you’ve been able to catch
a girl as fine as that?

That is something
quite astounding.
Tell em, sir,
and speak honestly:
do you have fortunes?
Are you a drug runner?
A white slaver?
Perhaps you have blackmail opportunities,
though, really, you’d think any of those situations
would require better personal hygiene.

She is not the finest woman I have seen,
certainly, but
she is far, far
far far better than you seem to deserve.

How do you do it?
Can you share your secret?
Can you provide me
with the strategy,
the catch,
the singular mechanism
that a hideous monster like you
was able to trick a girl
into liking you?

I have to know.
I need to know…

ANOTHER STORY

Your idea for a novel is…
novel, I guess.
I don’t think I’ve heard of it before
but,
I suspect,
there’s a reason for that.

How does your narrator learn
that his mother is a mantis?
Does she tell him?
Is it supposed to be magic realism?
Cuz it’s not all that realistic.
I’m sorry.
I wish your ideas didn’t suck.

Maybe you could imagine your story
from another character’s point of view
or maybe
just imagine
another story.

I don’t mean to shout down your dreams
or offer up the contradictions
in what you present.
I want to offer up constructive criticism
but, it seems,
it’s become the other kind.

ZOMBEE TREE

It has taken two thousand years,
but
the evergreens
have learned from our Lord
and,
three days later,
will rise from the dead
and return to life.

The Christmas trees
are coming back
to haunt those
that cut them down
year after year.
It is unclear
what they will be hanging with care
but this
ia one of the benefits of being
a Chosen People.

Unless, of course,
they teach the trick
to the gefilte fish.
The we’re all screwed.

SANTA IS
(after Jon Berger)

Santa is a dude.
Santa is a dark dude.
Santa is a dark pinko dude.
Santa is a dark pinko surveilling dude.
Santa is a dark pinko surveilling dude who judges with a hidden metric.
Santa is a dark pinko surveilling dude who judges with a hidden metric and provides for everyone – like Jesus
or Stalin!

Santa is clearly a communist
who hides in some Siberian-style hinterland
where his cadre of compatriots
work in secret
disguised from the rest of us
with a discrete agenda
we can never know.
Santa is a terrorist.

Santa’s got a bunch of aliases
like Saint Nick
and Father Christmas
and the Fat Guy.
Santa may be connected,
youknowwhati’msayin’?

Santa pays no taxes.
Santa keeps short slaves.
Santa grows mutant animals
doing his hidden bidding
and will not share
his technological breakthroughs with the gub’mint.

Santa’s a mystery.
Santa’s a problem.
Santa defies borders
and rights to privacy
and home security.

Santa claims to be a force for good
but
how can we ever trust
such a secretive
criminally corpulent
eating-disordered
dark, dark dude?