jonberger

On second thought, Satan,
that seems like a pretty fine idea.
I would like to reverse my former reservations,
Senor Mephistopheles,
and get in on your suggestion.

Is that all right?
Was it a one-time offer?
May I take you up on the opportunity
and sign up for the chance
to dance at equidistance to your evil plans?
I know that was a bad rhyme,
but I thought it might serve as a mini-spell
and convince you of my intent.

I’m down with the devil,
is what I’m saying,
and I’m ready for business.
Where’s the dotted line so I may sign
and get down to your design,
something far less than benign?

What do you say, man in red?
Can we make a deal?

“Hello Goodbye” Paul must have been so aggravating,
like out of Python’s Argument sketch.
Sure, both characters seemed to be constantly contradicting each other
but by title alone,
it seems to be Paul
that’s doing the main damage.

What a jerk!
How long is he gonna be this way?
He seems to be out of it
by the Let It Be sessions,
if the title track is any evidence,
but still, who would have wanted to be around
that confrontational guy?

Who, motherfucker?

I was by far the oldest person at the house show
by decades perhaps.
This could have happened on other occasions
in my usual crew
but I didn’t know anyone in this bunch.

I had barely heard of one of the acts
through an Alumni group,
so we shared a school
but not the millennium in which we attended it.
Weird. Out of place. Alone.
I raided the fridge.
“Ooh! Hard lemonade!”
I found a corner and waited for the music to start.

Between acts, there were a couple conversations I took part in. Small talk about the changes
in the college
between centuries.
I drank not enough
to change my mental state.
I remained oldest.

The act I came to see finally took the stage:
the floor in the center of the living room.
She was young, nubile, cute.
I felt increasingly old being there,
but leeringly stayed for her set
and chatted afterward.

Then I stalked off
leaving someone else
to be oldest at the party.

I could tell you about the timeI sat near Meryl Streep.
Shall I?

I sat near Meryl Streep once.
I guess there was less to it than I thought.

She had gone to her son’s musical performance
which was at a club that I frequented.
I had put flyers out for my upcoming show
and I saw her eying it between her son’s songs.
When he began singing again,
she put the flyer down
and paid attention to her kid,
like a good mother should,
but my poem could have called her attention away
and she might have gone to my show
opted to manage me
(as many Oscar-winning actors are wont to do)
decide to produce and direct a feature film
starring me
(should I write it? That would be up to the producer
– and as my manager, that might be a conflict of interests),
and suggest a tasteful series of promotions,
perhaps for Burger King.

Alas, her familiar ties were too strong,
and that potential future
failed to pan out.

Perhaps another time,
we’ll talk about Phoebe Cates.

Google lets you traipse down the street
with your laptop in your drawers,
just viewing how their Car captured the City
one day, and preserved it on Maps forever.

You can see the man and his dog
strolling down the avenue
or the nanny rolling the kiddies to the Park
down Seventy Seventh Street
even though it looks like the train just let out
and another street might have been less trafficked.

The City is your still photobook
but of course
there are far simpler
less data-intensive ways
to watch your telenovelas.

College age, I was sent away to school.I knew it was the right thing to do
but I was a City boy
and I chose a school in Western Mass,
in the lovely countryside outside of Amherst.

I knew no one
and I was not used to being away from home.

After I was dropped off
and all community activities were completed,
I closed the door
and wondered what to do.
The students on my floor congregated in the hallway
but I didn’t know that I belonged
so I stayed shut up in my room
while peopled chatted and met
outside my door
learning about each other
like the humans do.

I remained alone.
Sometimes,
I would look out the first story window
and see people out on the quad
talking to one another
introducing themselves.
How did they do it.

Eventually
one of the strangers on the floor knocked
and offered me a lifeline.
"Hey… Jon? Do you want to come on out and join us?"
"…No thanks," I said, "I’m good in here. I appreciate it, though."
The door closed, and I kept to myself.

It took little more than a day or two
to get into the groove of things.
It wasn’t long for me to prove to be a human, too.
After that, I could human with the best of them.

You took a bet on me
long ago,
that I would age well.

I did the same for you
and mine paid out.
I’m sorry you weren’t as lucky.

I wish I weren’t so fat and bald.
Some of it I could do something about,
I suppose,
so I’m also sorry you bet
on someone with such limited will.

You could have done better
but maybe you learned that
long before
time proved it to you.

The number of tickets I get in a monthis sometimes more than one.
It is not a thing I do
because I find it fun.
I drive dramatically
to arrive before I’m done.
It is the strategy
of a racing champion.

My family believes
it’s an awful thing to do
but I’m happy to get to places
quickerer than you.
If pedal to the metal
gets me to the finish fast
then great! No debating,
I’ll be quickly hauling ass.

I’ll speed.
I’ll speed.
I’ll speed in word and deed
whether or not there is a need.
I’ll not smoke the devil weed,
no barriers will impede.
I’ll speed!

I’d have a further verse
if I’d left time to rehearse
but instead I’ll cut it short
and all further chat abort.
I’ll just get onto the road
and not anymore be slowed.

I’ll speed!

I’m not a big Shakespeare guybut it just occurs to be me
that Big Willie attributed ole Gaius J
with some kind of immortality clause for scaredy cats.
Let’s dive in.

How come only the craven get to live a thousand times?
If they die a thousand times, there must be reincarnation
or revivification, or some other way out of the grave,
right? Gotta be.
Caesar didn’t paint it as a pretty picture,
but a longer life existed for the frightened,
for the feary, for the faint-of-heart.
What did Shakespeare think he knew
that we don’t?

And if so, what did Shakespeare know
that we don’t?
And if so, what did Bacon know
that we don’t?

Yeah, I went there!

I tried to take personal stock during the worst of the Me Too Movement
and think about my offences against women,
when I objectified or behaved badly
and went beyond the bounds of appropriate behavior.

When I uncovered an incident
I wrote it up as a U2 poem.
I came up with fourteen tales of bad behavior.
I’m sure there are others I blanked on
or cannot see through continued sexism.
I tried to look honestly at my behavior, though,
and address my errors where I could.

I don’t know if anyone reading the pieces
came to recognize that I knew I was wrong.
I don’t know if that came across.

It wouldn’t be good art
to say such things directly
but it’s not a good redemptive arc
if such things are left unsaid
so I guess I might have left redemption by the wayside
in favor of a better story.

I might now have another U2 piece to write.