jonberger

The miles race beneath me
and my eyes flutter faster
than the wheels speed.
Is that a mixed metaphor?
I’d be able to ponder that better
if my concentration weren’t completely focused
on staying awake.

If I make it to the next exit
I will get myself a Slurpee
or a generic product from a similar establishment.
Look at me – still able to pull off
a multisyllabic word like “establishment.’
Maybe I’m more conscious than I think I am!

But if that’s the case, then why are miniature tigers
seeking to high-five me in the blue grass?
I’m up. I’m up!

Four miles to the next exit.
Some chocolate until I reach it
then some soda when I arrive.

I should take more trips.

I should take less trips.

The road lies before me
and I am not prepared.
My feet are not hardened
my heart is not set.
My maps are not marked
and my friends have not been notified.

Nothing is in place for my trip ahead.
I am not ready.
Everything is exactly as it should be.

Time to go.

I wonder if the next time I see you
it’ll be like the last time I saw you.

When we last spoke
it was like all of our other conversations
had been perfectly pleasant
and polite
with no heat or tension
and that we hadn’t spoken for several weeks

in between.

When last we spoke
it was like things were normal.

I didn’t realize things were normal
for us.

I didn’t know

that we knew normal.

I don’t know if the next time I see you
this new normal
will still be the same state
as it seemed to be for you
as the last time I saw you.
I guess we’ll have to see.

I am finding that televisions
adjacent to my life
will not remain off.

I no longer watch terrestrial television

which is not a rare statement today
but I have found in the last few days
that outside of my home,
despite my intent
and the intent of the property owners
televisions will be on
or stay on
or turn on
continuously.

It is weird.

My mother’s television springs on quite regularly.

This also happened at the repair shop I frequented today,
even after I turned it off.

I was sitting in a waiting room two days ago
with a TV nobody watched
but could not find any way to escape.
This world does not seem to be my own anymore.

I would ask for explanation
but I do not expect a response.

I suppose if one were coming, though,
I would simply sit dumbly as information is presented to me.
That is my wont in this new world,
whether I wish it or not.

When Simon spoke of
"the Mississippi Delta… shining like a National guitar.”
I thought, "of course the national guitar of America
would be shiny. It represents all of us.
In its official capacity, wouldn’t it want to look its best?"
But of course I learned of the National brand
and it made a lot more sense.

Paul Simon wrote "Maybe I Think Too Much"
a couple of times
on what some think is his worst album.

It may be that I’m just thinking too little.

Maybe there’s a compromise between

the amount Paul is thinking
and the amount I am,
a sweet spot where Goldilocks
and the Baby Bear are thinking

that’s just right, and things are easily understood.

I like the sound of that.

I wonder what Simon thinks.

Death comes for everything
except ideas
unless ideas are dependent
on specific kinds of living creatures
to think them.

If only humans can imagine justice, say,
or more likely, the inequitable distribution of resources,
then with the death of the species
our concepts will blow away
as dust on the seaside.

But maybe inequitable distribution exists
even if there is no one to share unevenly.

Maybe the concept will be available even without

a thinking individual to say "I see what you did there!"

Maybe death needn’t take everything.

So there, Mister Bones.
You can’t have it all!
Ha ha!

My mother was impressed that I could calculate my half-birthday
on the fly
with such ease
as if, after calculating it the first time
maybe thirty five years ago
it wouldn’t prove to be muscle memory
to remember my half-birthday
the next time
and the next time
and the next.

It’s not like my half-birthday changes.
I even remember hers, sometimes.
The trick is not to confuse her half-birthday with mine.

I remember my quarter-birthday, too,
since one of them
happens to be Sanjay’s birthday
so easy peasy.

Anyway, I didn’t share
the easiness peasiness
of my birthday math with my Mom.
Let her stay impressed.

The secret was your body wasn’t listening to you.The secret was you weren’t ready to go.
The secret was you needed to do it at the right time
in the right place
with the right people
and none of those circumstances had been met yet
until now.
The secret was Paul McCartney was in love with you
but that was a long time ago.

The secret was published some time back
and hopefully you’ve gotten it out
from the library
so you’ve been properly informed
and can share it appropriately
so the secret needn’t be so secret anymore.

So if there’s anything else to share with the group,
can we hear it now?

You know that just ten more will get you over the line
but you don’t know if you have ten more in you.
You don’t know if you have one more in you.
At this hour
with this level of energy
you’re not quite sure what one more is.

You know you have to grind it out
but you wonder how you could possibly do it;
with what resolve or where the grit
will come from.

Just do it, they say
but they’re not here.
You are.
You pray you can do it.

You try
and see what happens.

I’ve been glancing around the place
looking for something – anything –
that I’d be able to recycle.
I’ve gone through the mail, the magazines,
the news, the promos, the cans, the bags, the wrappers…
I’ve put them into their individual buckets
and they’re ready to go out at the appropriate times.

There’s more that I can do, though.
I’m sure of it.
So I realized I’ve got a lot of paperbacks I’m not gonna read again that the Salvation Army might appreciate
so I’ve boxed them up, too
then I sorted through clothes for some bags to the same location and found a bunch of wires and headphones and even an old Walkman to get over to an ecowaste program
at the end of the month.

I’m tossing everything now!

I’ve got sheets and some pillows and a bunch of rags
that are just not fit for human consumption
but I know some places can reuse the fabrics for new products. I’ll just throw these into their boxes by a gas station.

All right!
My apartment is gonna get so clean
-er!

This is a process I go through every twenty years or so
starting now.
I hope I make it to the next one.