jonberger

The cat is dying
but doesn’t think his owner knows,
so he’s trying to lay hints around the house
so she gets with the program.

A little blood in the urine,
a spat of vomit on the floor,
some torn up upholstery on the couch
all are certain signs, he thinks,
but a life of bad behavior leaves him
in a poor position to provide signals now.
She suspects nothing.

He’s not sure what she could do
if she were aware.
Sometimes, there is God-magic
that helps in situations like this
but he suspects his time
is wrapping up.
Perhaps he could have more comfort
in the weeks he has left.

He wonders if he has mastered block writing enough
to leave a note.

Reading other poets
I am seeing how
line breaks are
important.

Yer Party was triumphant. An effort of your love for your friends
and your community for you.
It truly showed in how everyone pulled through.
The only real query to ask is what next will you do?
Will you need someone to cry "Goo-goo g’joob"?
No, that kind of crap is nonsense. To say it would start a coup!
Better just to move ahead and do something new.
Still, it was sensational, yer party, that is true,
and I should know, after all, because I’ve seen a few!

Some people’s behaviors I don’t get
and I find inhuman,
like murderers and Trumpets and line-cutters.
Some people’s behaviors I don’t get,
and I want to investigate,
like fans of hardcore or speedmetal,
or folks who are really into miniatures.
I don’t get the appeal for any of them.

Let’s talk about the doll-people:
Sometimes their enamored with a specific universe,
so it’s Star Wars they love and miniatures is just a way
to get closer to it. I can dig that.
Loving miniatures for miniatures sake, though,
is hard for me to get behind.
You like them… because they’re small?
That’s why you’re in it?

Hardcore – or, for that matter, speedmetal – fans
seem to be swearing allegiance to hairstyles
more than sonic landscapes.
Their other distinctions seem beyond me.
Probably, I’d need an agnostic to give me the lessons
in exploring the differences in music,
because the huge divides that would be obvious
to the fans of either genre
would probably be lost to me.

Still, even if I can’t yet understand these specific worlds,
I’d love to learn more about them
and see if there are any ways
we could bridge the gaps in the future.
Perhaps there are ways we can get along.
Some day, we’ll be together.

It’s none of your business, 
but Stana doesn’t care about the scene any more. 
It just doesn’t mean the same to her 
as it used to. 
It doesn’t mean much to her at all. 

Perhaps it is a matter of her youth passing her by
or about the acts’ quality not being quite so high 
or limbs to travel being less spry
or not having an excellent transportation guy. 
Whatever it is, it ain’t worth it to Stana to try. 

So if you see her 
– unlikely –
don’t bother asking why you haven’t been seeing her around. 
The answer might be a little stark
and uncomfortable. 

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Listen closely. 
No, shut up!
You’re making too much noise!
You cannot hear the rites of Spring
with all that racket. 
Spring is singing, 
but it’s silent compared to all your chaotic carousing. 
Call it quits so you can hear the season’s sighs. 
They’re weak, but the weather is willing. 
While the white is still withering away,
Spring has only a little to say. 
So listen. 

I would not want to have to go through
an extended workbook
of a variety of exercises and questions
all to figure out what sort of Ray-Bans
are right for me.

That would not be a good use of time or energy.
Just like this poem.

We sat in the car
not passing a roach back and forth.
Nothing like that was happening at all.
“You should ask her out,” she said to me.
“That’s what she told me, too,” I replied quietly.
“Well, if she said it, I suspect that’s a pretty big hint.”
“Probably,” I watched the foot traffic.
It was a lovely day.

“There really seems to be a vibe there,” she suggested,
“If I’ve learned anything through all this,
it’s that you have to take the opportunities when they come. There might not be another.”
I nodded. Her husband had a limited lifespan.
She knew about jumping at opportunities.

“So where should you take her?” She wondered, “Someplace she’d feel comfortable. Maybe barbecue.”
“There’s a place in the West Village.”
“That sounds good! What have you got to lose?”
“The price of some barbecue, maybe.”
“That’s just pessimism talking,” she said.
“How about the loss of all hope and crushing defeat? How about that?”
She laughed. “There you go!”

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?