jonberger

Elvis Costello loves tomatoes
and I fear them.
My fear turns to hate in their presence
and I don’t know what to make
of this disgusting knowledge.

If my hero loves this horrid substance
what does this mean of his taste?
He also likes “Pop Life.”
Must I now also hate Prince?
I don’t know where I stand!

I need help figuring out decisions
at this point.
Shuffling playlists and picking songs
will not work if the prophet has proven flawed.
Must I now follow Joe Jackson?
Ani DiFranco?
Taylor?

Do I…
Do I have to try a tomato again
for the first time in forty years?
Say it isn’t so!

The world is not forsaken
just give it a day.
The armies of death have not awakened
yet, to blow us all away.

We have some breath still
in these very old bones
and we can last until
we overturn some stones
and we can see if
there are any old crones
to whom to pray.
And if nay?
We’ll be done then, anyway!

I think back on us
and I love how I felt
when I was with you.
I don’t know
if we were that good for each other.
I don’t think I was a particularly good guy
at that time,
though you were pretty cool.
I know I liked you a lot.
I know I missed you a lot afterward.

I felt such strong nostalgia
for how I felt with you yesterday.
Though I couldn’t return to those days
– I doubt the campus would accept my tuition –
I wish there was some way to bottle then back up
and have it again.

To name a thing is to give it power, yes,
a certain definition,
a size and a shape.

To name a thing also hedges it in,
contains it to those dimensions,
limits by the very terms used.

What has occurred so far
has been beautiful and glorious,
magical,
and I fear the power of naming.
Could we avoid that for now
and maintain a sense of freedom
for just a little while longer?

And if you feel the need for security,
insist upon naming,
as so many do,
might I suggest,
“Consultant-at-large?”

When the power is out and the fridge is losing its cool
and you must conserve the chill
as long as is possible,
you do the scientific thing
and mind map what is in the freezer,
what is on each refrigerator shelf.

You plan your opening of the door
so it takes instants
to get what you need from the belly of the beast
and nothing escapes but a mere breath of cool breeze.
This is efficiency, stark and pure
and in moments of its momentum, you may wonder
"Why don’t I always work so well?"

While, of course, in this time of crisis,
you had time to plan out this little effort,
and it gains you something to create such perfections,
there is a knife’s edge to balance
in working efficiently.
It can hurt.
It does hurt.
It is not for many.
It is not for any.

It is not for anyone.
Mind map that.

If you miss out on the latest movies
the latest television shows
or music
you might not understand the references people make
in their conversations,
the memes used on the internet,
or jokes on the latest TV shows, movies or memes.

This is a dangerous pattern.
You’ve got to keep up to date
or you risk being left behind.
If you’re left behind
then you’re…
left behind!

Be careful what you do.
Be a good citizen
lest you suffer the consequences.

The bookstore on this street that is gone
used to be such a place of excitement.
I used to love to go in
to see what I could see
to find new worlds I could explore
new places to visit
in this neighborhood so near.

For the cost of a walk
and a pull of a parent’s arm
I could go to this street and this store
that is gone
and find a new home
for a little while
and live a new life
when mine proved disquieting.

That option is no longer available
on that street
but there are many other avenues left.

Rooftop poets explore the sky.
They see the city and then ask why.
They’re not afraid of the people below
or to tell their readers so.

Rooftop dancers trip near the edge.
Their limbs take them dangerously close to the ledge
but they fly away whenever they choose
as they enjoy all the views.

Rooftop singers are sirens and seers,
seducing with wisdom, at heights that appear
much greater than needed to see everything.
You stare while on rooftops, they sing.

Rooftop artists, they all entertain.
They tickle your fancy and limit your strain.
They take you to places that you couldn’t reach.
Such is the gospel I preach.

A leaf blows around and around the town
stopping and resting
here and there
but never for long
as it explores the environs
of its urban home.

You’d think this flora
would fare less well
in this metropolitan landscape
but it’s really gone to town
going round and around
and around and around
and around and around and around!

The little leaf leaves people alone
though it’s lovely enough,
it could be pressed into any book.
It’s worthy, certainly, of anyone’s second look
but it flies so far, it doesn’t last long enough
to be seen.
It’s clean across the borough, quick as a blink!

The lovely leaf looms large in imagination,
laboring along, going where it goes,
nobody knowing its path, travelling hither and yon,
landing nowhere, everywhere,
having no destiny that anyone will ever discover.

The leaf lives on in the landscape, alone.

and in the end, the rock you make
will break and roll out of control
into the new that you will never see.

It’ll be some mystery beyond what we
can imagine. It’ll be sexy. It’ll be sweet.
It won’t meet our expectations.
It will confound them.

It will be beyond time
and we won’t understand it.

Same as the old boss.