jonberger

AND WHATNOT

We try to have Indians
at our thanksgiving table
but
with the genocide and whatnot,
there don’t seem to be many Indian Americanus left,
so we invite Mitul.
He doesn’t go for the turkey
so much
but he’s taken a liking
to the string beans.

We serve him veggies,
wish him well,
and make him do his fair share of dishes
– by which I mean all of them,
then ask him to pay his part of the meal
– by which I mean everything.

Mitul seems all right with the conditions
as, otherwise,
he’d be making time and a half
at the call center
or wherever he spends his afternoons.

So he’s appreciative
and we
are very thankful
to have him.

MARK

It has been months now
and yet
I keep thinking about you
and your tramp stamp
and other markings
I’d wish to leave you with.

There are stains and stresses
I’d love for you to experience,
territorial pissings ’round your perimeter
brands and bonds I’d like you to know.

it’s not to be
for you are months away
except in memory
where you remain unchanged and perfect.
Crisp, unsoiled
– except, of course,
for where you are.

THE GAYS

The gays..
The fucking gays have got
to stop making me fuck them
with their pretty eyes
and their gorgeous tans
and their fucking rock hard pecs…
Jesus Christ, they have to keep it in my pants.

How dare they make me fuck them like that,
so sweet
so loving
making it all seem so magical and gaytastic?

The damned gays…
The fucking gays…
They’re just completely kissable
and
and they have to stop
because I can’t.

THE SPECIAL OCCASION

In the recording of adrienne rich
at the Y
in 1968
before she began reading her second piece
you coughed
and broke the glorious silence
of the special occasion.

The spell was shattered
and the mood was lightened
and the incantation that was begun
never attained full strength
because of that bum note
at the start.

You coughed
and distracted the artist.
You coughed
and the rhythm was lost.
You coughed
and the evening changed,
ever so slightly
and the world bent and whispered
a particular way
instead of another.

All this
came from your cough
and all this
happened in ’68
and all this
was recorded
at the Y
and will be remembered
someday
in someone’s crapass poem.

YOUR FOLLOWING

My youth has been spent
following you around
sometimes even
with your knowledge.
It won’t surprise me
if I spent my golden years
on that same circuit.

You may not know it
but I am probably your biggest fan
– and if not,
then certainly your fattest
though absolutely not your fastest
as I go breathless
in your presence
heavy panting
whenever you’re around.

You ask me to see the cripples
so I go see the cripples.
You suggest I dance with burnt flesh husks
and, without asking why,
I comply.

I obey your commands,
agree with your wishes.
I do what you say
firmly following your frequent phrases of friendship
for that is what I do.
That is what I am:
fanatical.

MOUTHFUL OF LIES

Don’t ask me why I loathe
the sweet potato
for if you do,
I just may tell you.
The sweet potato makes a cheater’s fry
a golden crispy fry
that looks,
in the wrong light,
like the tastiest and most awesome
of diner french fries.

So any sensible patron will grasp
as many of these golden prizes
as quick as can be
only to discover
the misbegotten things
are made not of ‘tater
but of yam.

You – if you are like me –
will be faced
with a mouthful of lies
in the form of wrong fries.

This swallow of betrayal
is where I learned
to despise
all that is sweet potato fries
and will never let a chance go by
to damn them
so long as I’m ever asked why.

EMPTY WORDS

I’m sorry; what?
I must have missed something you said
or, perhaps, everything.
I didn’t mean to.
I just, well…
I’m a bit distracted
just now.

It’s sort of, well,
The amount that I want to sleep with you is, like, a LOT.
It makes it difficult to follow your
no-doubt entertaining
train of conversation
– it’s just so hard to hear you over my ragged breathing,
my rubbing hands,
and the blood coursing through my ears.

I’d ask to go somewhere quieter,
but
I find it very difficult
to walk with
next
or near you.

Really,
for me,
in this agitated state
it’s hard
(difficult. I meant difficult)
to come to
(arrive at.
That’s a far safer choice of words)
any way for us to get along.

So it might be best
for us
to cut our losses.

Unless…