jonberger

Today’s quest for the Keys of Ennui
to forestall the fall of world into eternal disrepair
has been postponed
until a more convenient time
when the weather proves more agreeable.

Until that time, please enjoy your home entertainment systems
and cupcakes.

We shair reconvene at the earliest opportunity

for our Walkathon in Manhattan
to uncover said Keys of Ennui
through which we hope to delay the undeniable.

Thank you for your attention
in this matter.

Look for all our future notifications!

There is no bell at my door
so I am not prepared to receive the folk
who come storming at my gate.

I cannot blast them away
nor welcome them in.
I can only let the defenses take care of them
and perhaps presume
the invasive have another way to reach out to me.

They could shout up to my window
or use my phone
or write to me by email or text
or even post
though I receive mail
about as often as a knock at the door.

Really, no one comes to approach me
at home.
I do not see how that will alter
without a doorbell
and I do not see that changing
any time in the short term.

If I tell you what to do
you probably won’t do it
BUT
if I intimate what to do
suggest that you probably wouldn’t want to do it
haven’t got the time or the predilection or the capacity
state that it’s not important
that whatever you do is perfectly all right
so long as you’re happy,
then you still won’t do it,
but I’ll have done my due diligence.

That’s all a smart one can really try to do,
right?

I’m asking you now:
is there anything else I can do?

Drunk guy with toy bottle says
“God bless you!”
to the lady he failed to pick up on the Number 3 Uptown.
“Imma leave you alone,” he says,
Then asks how old she is.
“Goddamn! You forty three? You don’t look twenty seven!
“How old you think I look?”

He’s worn. Looks about fifty.
“Forty?” He shouts “God bless you! I’m sixty! I swear!”
I can believe it.
We enter a louder area as the train nears its station and the conversation is lost. She exits.
He’s left, bereft of his company.
“Goddamn,” he says, “sixty…”
He finishes his drink, tossing it down.

The testing is complete.
At last, the schemes have been completed.
The plans have been settled.
The teams have been assigned.
The spoils have been divided
between the anticipated victors.

All the pieces are now in place.
Victory is all but assured.
The game is ready to be played.
Let us commence!

Her motivation was pure, but if one is imaginative enough,
you can always find ill intent in even the most kind-hearted of impulses.
Perhaps she only looked him up because of his many connections
in the mobile phone / health-care synergy network.
Possibly she had heard about his sister
being a judge at the All-State Rhubarb Pie Bake-Off next month.

Perchance she suspected that he had always harbored an interest in her
and she wanted to connect with him to ensure that he knew
that it was best that he STAY AWAY at all costs.

Any of this was possible.
All of this was conceivable.

She was looking for any reason to doubt her own impulses
and not just pick up the phone
to reach out to her old friend.

The adults around the teevee
are watching images of adorable doggies
in supine states.
“Awww”s abound.
The soundtrack is melancholy.

The children are out back
on the indoor porch
playing with the stuffed pets
trying to get them to behave.

Great Aunt Sally is using the giant soup bone for…
soup, I guess.
There is no one else in the house
to gnaw on the giant thing.

All the four-legged friends
have left the home.
The pets have abandoned this place.

Everyone to love has all gone away.

There is no explanation for this state of affairs.
Some disappeared of their own accord.
Some were sent away with the help of a speeding car
or a misplaced raccoon
or unprotected poison.
Some went to farms up north.
But now they’re all gone
and no one has replaced them.

Where is the spirit
for the pets of this house?
How will that energy be returned?

My mother cannot bear the way I drive.
I cannot bear my mother’s reactions to my driving
like when I’m writing poetry about my driving
while behind the wheel.

She hisses and grips herself tightly
as protection from all the damage
I have yet to cause her.
Not once have I gotten into an accident with my mother
yet she seems to scream internally
and she often does cry externally
when I race through the streets
keeping pace with the other cars
failing to cause a single scar on her face.

I have generated for her many a wrinkle
many a worry line
many a tear.
Her fears about my potential tickets
are making her sicker and sicker.
A quicker way to kill my mother
would be to simply crash the vehicle
but I am resistant to such a plan.

I do wish she wouldn’t tense up so often
doubt the brakes with such rapidity.
I want her to trust me
and my driving
but then
I know the number of accidents I’ve had
without her in the car
and she has good reason to be concerned.

And Jim said,
“When they arm the City with poets, you’ll be sure to get a job.”
And I said, “I will take that job!”
because the pen is mightier than the sword
and much easier to spell
but Jim had moved on to other things
and I had writing to do.
Work has to be completed
even if no one is paying
and an army of poets
must begin their war of art-addition.

Transitions
revisions.
metamorphoses
revisitations.
Improvements.
The Jack is back.

Things are better than they were before.
He ain’t like he was anymore;
reading entirely different lore.
He’s got another one he can pore.

The Jack is back
he’s no longer wack.
He’ll smack your back
and won’t leave a crack.
The Jack is back.

Though not yet a king
he’s ready to spring
without dinging a wing.
Think what things he can bring!

Yeah, the Jack is back, and it’s all pretty cool
though it may make no sense and it sounds fairly foolish,
it’s real good news to some for the odds are now stacked
in the favor of John since the old Jack is back!