jonberger

I used to make a point
to deviate from the norm
– whatever norm I could think of.
I don’t do that quite so much now.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m older,
more mature,
or because maybe I blew my wad earlier
and I can’t think of further norms to explode.

There’s certainly further envelopes to push.
As an older gent, I probably am less familiar
with what’s weird today
and wouldn’t know deviance
if it tickled my bum ’til kingdom come.

Anyway,
I’ve sort of normalized by now.
Wanna go get some hot dogs?

These days I own one pair of prescription glasses at a time
like a beggar.
This is most unwise.
What happens when my only pair of glasses breaks?
I have to go to a pharmacy and steal a pair of glasses
is what happens,
like when it happened a few months ago
– only that time I paid for them
like a sucker!

Most unwise.

Once, as a virtual child,
I was horseback riding up North,
and I put my glasses in my shirt pocket,
so as not to let them fall off while riding,
and I rode in a pack down a trail.

The glasses bounced out of my shirt pocket
and I couldn’t get out of the pack
to retrieve the glasses
– not that it would have done any good,
as they were trampled
by all the other horses behind mine.

Forlorn as I was on the trip home,
I had another pair to wear
back at the house.
I was wiser back then
– or my parents were.

Now, with one pair in my possession,
I lack the backup
for such emergencies.
If glasses break
I need to get on the ball immediately
to address the situation.

I must become wise again
and soon.

I wish I could lead a poetry seminar
but having written
“What I Don’t Know About Poetry,”
I think I’ve given away the game.

The piece admits
that I don’t know a LOT about poetry
and though I write a lot of it
there’s no evidence
that any of what I write
is any good.

I’ve taken some lessons
and have some ideas
as to how to open the creative spigot, though,
which might be useful.
Maybe I could be a utility player
in a seminar.
Is that a role?

I’ll bet there’s no pay in it.
Damn…
How am I gonna make a mint
if it’s not through poetry?

Endlessly we plod,
inch after step
after block after ave
after mile.
It takes a while,
but we’re getting somewhere.

We view sites familiar
and among them, places unusual and exciting.
The city has changed dramatically
since we last made this extensive pilgrimage.
So many landmarks moved, or gone.

It is strange
to see the world so altered
in so short a time.

We too have changed.
Our conversation halts
though our pace is steady.
We go on
extending our reach downtown
consistently, bridging boroughs,
entering newer territories
discovering more.

We will cover much ground.
We will come to conclusions
if not the answers
we hoped to reach.

Just in case you’re interested,
there’s a whole new suite of poems
(of mine)
that were written a while ago
that now apply to you.

Of course, in turn,
there is also another bunch of poems
(again, of mine)
that no longer seem to refer to you.

It’s sort of a trade-off, you see.

You may be able to guess
which are which
but if not
I’ll be happy to send you a diagram.

Under the bridge
they are awarding metals
metals that are brighter than gold
brighter and more valuable
and heavier but will make a citizen’s career
so you carry the weight home
or as far as you can
during the quiet parade of the day.

It is not easy
nor is supposed to be.
That is the way of honor
and curses, too.

This has probably never been brought up
but I have it on good authority
that Carly Simon
had an amalgam of characters in mind
when composing "You’re So Vain."

Kind of a letdown, huh?

In any case,
just so you know,
none of those characters
were you,
were based on you,
and the song was not about you.

If you do the math,
you probably weren’t even born
when the song came out.

Damn!

The ego on you…

I have a suit
from when I was a bigger man
that is just ginormous on me today.
There’s little I can do with it
so Housing Works will get a donation
of a good looking suit
because even if I’m no longer a bigger man
I’m still a big man.

Another suit that had the waist size listed
– a waist size far too large –
fit me perfectly.

That was not good news at all.

I, apparently, am still too big
for my britches.

There is always work to do
down the streets where you live
and there are always more ways to make money in theory
than in practice.

I am not bilingual enough
for the jobs in my neighborhood
nor skilled enough
in any appropriate way.

I’m working on talent upgrades
to actually be competently qualified
for any of the work
my resume claims I can do
and I need to review all those extra abilities
I intimated,
to ensure that they’re still physically possible
for one such as I.

Prostitution has never worked out for me
the way I’d hoped.
The sexual kind.
Others are just a regular part
of any ordinary day,
of course.

I have a solid single shift of food services
in my past.
I don’t think I could parley that
into a career.

My long-ago days with children
would probably preclude me
from any future education work.

A look in my direction
would stop possible fashion professions.

The more I think
the less there is.

Maybe I could be a life coach?
That seems something I could look into…

The conversation was going well.

She asked questions about me
and I thought about me, then responded.
It was all about me.
Me me me:
a few of my favorite things.

She queried if I sometimes feel untruthful to those around me
and I said there are times when I bring up fairly outlandish topics
and play them off as jokes
but I’m really testing the waters
because I really mean them.

“Could you give me an example?”
she asked.

For moments,
I could not come up with a single one
proving both that
I was untruthful to those around me
and that really, I’m kind of a douche.