jonberger

The police detective interpreted
that her partner had been out all night
by the mussed hair, messed makeup
and same clothes she wore as last night.
She did not recognize the cause
of her partner’s aberrant behavior
until The Case of the Really Good Date
was closed a few days later.

The clouds seem perfect on this day
and you look perfect, too.
I wonder what you think of me,
but you say little to clarify.

I loved you once.
I feel I could do so again
but so far, you have provided such minor assistance,
I don’t know why I’d bother.

Little tough guy, huh?
Gonna make everything hard to deal with,
gonna break some balls now?

I can get with that.
I used to be a little tough guy
until I became a big tough guy
and then I lost some weight
and I wasn’t so tough no more.

Now I’m medium mediocre guy
and people can walk all over me
so when you pull your little tough guy shit,
it’s likely to work wonders in this part of town.

So try your crap around here.
See what it gets you.
Probably everything.

To wash the dishes, you must turn on the water.
To turn on the water, you must enter the kitchen.
To enter the kitchen, you must get off the couch.
To get off the couch, you must wake yourself up.
To wake yourself up, you must stop reading this in your sleep.
To stop reading this in your sleep, you have to first explain to me how the hell you’re reading this in your sleep!

For the love of Anti, I have arranged my life.
For the love of Anti, I have named my art.
For the love of Anti, I have known my friends.
For the love of Anti, I’ve lived days on end.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti.

For the love of Anti, I met stars galore.
For the love of Anti, I forsake the Doors.
For the love of Anti, I ate at the Fort.
For the love of Anti, I would write reports.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti.

For the love of Anti, I produced a zine.
For the love of Anti, I went on the scene.
For the love of Anti, I stayed out all night.
For the love of Anti, I continued to write.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti.

For the love of Anti, I rocked and rolled.
For the love of Anti, my soil was soled.
For the love of Anti, I again zined.
For the love of Anti, I was finally cleaned.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti.
For the love of Anti!

You know the show won’t be starting until much later
but you’re anxious
so you arrive early
thinking maybe you can help set up
or putter around the place
or circle the perimeter a few times
– anything to occupy the hours
before the evening truly begins.

The doors open reluctantly for you
and you begin your vigil
of pre-show nervous stalking.

You feel eyes on you,
but you know there’s little else you can do.
This is your process.
Before an even truly begins,
you must stretch, you must stir,
your must fluster around around the space.
You have simply gotta spend your time pacing.

A drink!
Perhaps that can stave off these nerves,
put you a bit at ease.
You ask for something fruity, and swallow it
in a flash, then resume your circling of the room.

The time clicks away as the room fills up.
There is less space to walk.
You find yourself unable to move freely,
but your jangly need has abated.
You feel comfortable
as the band takes the stage
and you are ready to enjoy the night properly.

Your ritual has worked.
You can take the evening on in the right way.
It will all go well.
Yes.

A lot of those questionnaires ask for three people
you’d like to have dinner with
and why
and my answers change a lot
depending on the day
and the cost of chocolate in Brazil
but lately I’ve been thinking about
Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great
because I’ve always thought I had a good shot at conquering Europe
and my endocrinologist Doctor Sidney
since it’s been really hard
to nail down an appointment.

The new song by the old band
doesn’t sound bad, per se,
but doesn’t sound like they did
in the old days.
Perhaps they’ve grown?
Maybe they’ve matured.
Possibly they’ve gotten old.

Definitely they’ve changed since the old sound.
It’s not as appealing.
Not as primal.
They don’t recall the halcyon days of youth,
that’s for sure.
Can they bring up something else
as valuable?

Could they offer you some lessons
on growing older gracefully
or struggling to maintain dignity
as your faculties atrophy
and you become less and less
of what you once had been?
Or is that just the same as growing older gracefully, you freaking dolt?

Perhaps there is nothing valuable to add.
Maybe it’s all been said before,
better and in a more thrilling way.

Maybe the new song by the old band
can never compare.
Maybe they should just give up.
Inexplicably, they haven’t.

Your favorite thing then
doesn’t have to stay your favorite thing forever.
Trust me on this.

I used to love Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
Now I’m not big on either macaroni OR cheese,
and that store bought stuff?
Ugh.

Tastes change.
Sometimes they widen. Mature.
Sometimes the opposite.

I used to be very experimental with foods when I was a baby
and then I got scared.
I’ve gotten better as I’ve aged,
but I don’t eat worms the way I did when I was three.
I will never be like that again.

Worms and Kraft.
What was I thinking?

I may have never been on Governor’s Island before today.
Based on my difficulty escaping it,
I may well never go back.

It took hours to plan my departure.
The line to get a ferry off the island
this Saturday took about ninety minutes to board.
That is too long.
While the boat seemed occupied on our way back to Manhattan,
it did not feel as if we were in a space that had only breathing space available.
We had more than personal space left to us.
We could have had more people onboard, I’m sure of it.

More could have been rammed onto our boat.
I’m sure that earlier ferries could have carried more bodies as well.
The island could have been emptied faster.
Rafts and balloons could have been added to the effort,
is all I’m saying.
More attempts could have been made
to help in the escape.
Attention must be paid.

But I survived.
It’s over now, at least.