jonberger

Take a look at me now:
You think I’m impressive? Ha!
I used to be so much stronger than this.
At an earlier time I was at full power
and some thing like the noise
you hear tonight could not keep me down,
not for a moment.

I’d be out on the bar
in the crowd
rubbing on drunkards
dancing with gangs
to gain the necessary attention
to win the focus
and turn the scene around.

I would not lose a room.
I did not lose the room.

I was a more powerful performer then.
Younger, more flexible
greater.

I’m not the man I used to be.
I let some of me go
but maybe, despite it all,
he’s coming back.

You stand twirling dizzily
enjoying the pulsing night
reveling in everything
treasuring this transitional world you have before you.

You know the dance can’t continue indefinitely.
You only have so much breath in you
and your energy gave out
before you even got onto the floor.
Still you’ll give it your all
whatever that may be these days.

The night holds no mysteries
but is has joys left to unfold
and you are still here
to take them in
if you can breathe long enough to do so.

You’re racing, he’s outpacing you easily. It isn’t fair.
How is it this boy can beat your best without a care?
Big brother’s nine years older; you know you can’t keep up. Still you’re there, just nipping at his heels, an annoying pup.
Of course, he doesn’t notice. For him, there’s no contest
nothing to compete about. No way that you can wrest
attention from his exploits or his accomplishments.
You pray somedays for your victorays and brother’s descent.

Big brother is not watching you. He doesn’t see a thing.
If he finds you doing something wrong, he won’t give Mom a ring.
He pays you no attention. With your bands he does not sing.
He doesn’t care for what you do; he doesn’t see a thing.

No matter how you try to tease him with your stones and sticks
your brother just ignores you to go spend his time with chicks.
He’s well into his teenage years and you are nowhere near.
His interests you can’t understand and will not for some years.
You boys are living separate lives; just take a look at’im now.
He’s off to see a movie with this extra zaftig frau.
Maybe when you’re older, the divide will lessen some
but at this point in time you couldn’t stick to him with gum.

Big brother’s not a babysitter; he is not watching you.
He doesn’t give a rat’s patoot to what you feel or do
or think or care about or want or what you’re living through
and whatever it may be, I know your bro’s not watching you.

That. Just then.
I was just about to write about Monroe
when I saw that you had just written about Monroe
and now if I go and write about Monroe
it’ll seem like I’m just copying you.

And, sure, maybe there’s enough room
on the gods’ green earth for everybodies’ words
on Monroe, and who cares what anybody might think
about who’s lifting from who,
but damn it, I care about what everybody thinks.

I was just copying somebody the other poem ago
and I don’t want to be suspected of it over here
when I was just guilty of it over there.
Better that I only get caught for it when it really happened.

So now I can’t write the Monroe piece
– at least not until the trail has been clear for a little while.

I give it about ten years.


If I keep believing that I meant to do that,
that everything happens for a reason
and I willed for these events to occur,
then I will eventually see the good
in what transpired.

I will find how yesterday was
an excellent state of affairs.
I will understand why
it has come to this.

I just need to believe
a little bit more.

There are foods I don’t eat
foods that freak me the fuck out
without my ever having tasted them
– or, having tasted them just enough to identify,
I will just shut down and go tongually ballistic.

Many of these scary foods are white
like sour cream
cream cheese
mayonnaise
cottage cheese

or crema.

I have little experience with any of these.
Like Sam-I-Am in Green Eggs and Ham,
my ignorance feeds my fear.
Still, I remain well-fed on that
which is still within my diet.

All the other colors of the rainbow
are enough to keep me full
and then some.

I can even be adventurous with other things
but this kinda white stuff creeps me out.
I love whipped cream, though!
Just don’t trick me with anything else.

I have been told there are lists of
one hundred albums you should listen to
one hundred books to reads
one hundred
works of art to experience.

I have also seen some say
that you must experience life
rather than sticking your head in books,
or albums or museums.

Now, far be it from me
to be one to judge
but I thought I might be able to provide
a template of some general activities
one might be able to complete
if they wished.
After completing, say,
fifteen of these universal experiences one could then
get down to the artistic canon
without any guilt or shame.

1. Worked with migrant day-workers for pennies while a minor.

2. Failed Physical Education by taking a political stand for a cause that has since become mainstream acceptable.

3. Formed a business with migrant workers at age 12 that provided a path to citizenship for many illegals.

4. Received early acceptance to West Point but opted to go to a Learn to Draw Comic Books program instead.

5. Met a YouTube celeb and asked them to take a picture of you with your girlfriend.

6. Dated two twins, got into farcical hi-jinks trying to keep them separate while keeping dates with them both the same night.

7. Maintained friendship with a celebrated artist but never bothered to delve into that artist’s work – somehow we never discussed the issue.

8. Became the object of adoration of the leader of a world religion.

9. Became object of contempt for the leader of a small tropical dictatorship.

10. Transformed a homeless beggar into a television producer at age 12.

13. The following: blacks, Jews, gays, cripples, musicians, lawyers, the autistic, philosophers, the differently-abled, socialites, religious leaders and the homeless, describe people in your circle of debtors.

14. Knew at least three people who dated Donald Trump’s hair stylist.

15. Studied how to cheat the Tax Code.

16. Bought a mirror at a yard sale, only to sell it the next week for quintuple the price, making the original seller look like an IDIOT!

17. Go dancing in a foreign city, only to discover that John Travolta had snorted cocaine there the night before!

18. Officiated a same sex wedding in Austin.

19. Although a devout vegan, was forced to tear the throat out of a wild boar in self defense.

20. When asked to write your own memoir, have frequently replied, “Why ever would I do that?
I’m certain your own life has to be far more interesting!”

Do you feel like your drowning
stuck in the wet whirlpool
lost in a constant circle
of roiling emotion
saturated

slowly
going
low?

Eventually you’ll have a decision to make.
You can keep circling the drain, waiting for the inevitable
or you can get out of the sink and go someplace drier.
What’s it gonna be?

The Mediterranean meal you have eaten
does not agree with you.
It attacks before dawn
dividing your forces
keeping your resources at bay
well into the day.

You are unprepared
for what is to come
but then again
you are rarely prepared
for what is to come.

Today
the afternoon promises heavy winds
but there is a chill running through you
that you didn’t anticipate.

You shudder often
and you find yourself afraid
without knowing why.

Without clear reason, you sigh.
You sense a premonition
that you might die
so with no destination
your spirit may fly.

For this, you are unprepared
but then again
you are rarely prepared

for what is to come.

There is no future you know to anticipate,
no date for which you understand to wait.

The times may be changing,
but their range is beyond your ken.
The bend of upcoming currents

may wend any which way,
traversing varied paths.

You don’t know what’s coming.
You don’t know how to ask.

You are unprepared
for what is to come.
You have never been prepared
for what is coming.
Why should this time
be any different?

Weeknight diner, my phone my only friend
the surrounding conversations my best entertainment.

Behind me
a high school table entertains themselves
while an unimpressed waitress serves.

The table’s energy vibrates,
even as sound.
They shout.
They scheme.
They talk about Friday night
about Christmas break
about Summer
about Steve
about Senior year
about so much more.

Eventually, the youth leave.
They leave a mess.
Before anyone can clean it away,
I scoot to their table
to check a theory.
After all the work they’ve put Babette through,
have the kids tipped her appropriately?
Have they paid at all?
I must know.

I scour the table for the bill
and the payment.
What have they given?

They have given a great deal.
Are these trust fund kids?
Good God, that’s a tip!

And now Babette is looking at me
as if I am trying to take her money.
“This is…
this is not how it looks.”