| Jonathan Berger's Poetry: Poem of the Day |
| BK She’s moving to Omaha. “I’m moving to Omaha,” she said, “With my boyfriend.” Why’s she got to mention the boyfriend? Like I didn’t know about him? Like each and every glance she makes doesn’t scream out to me and all the others like me, ‘I’ve got a boyfriend!’ It’s not as if I wanted her or anything. I mean, come on... Just because of that night, just because of that roll in hills, the cold wet grass pressing into me, then her, then me again, I know it doesn’t mean anything. It wasn’t like it mattered. Those words? That promise? It was nothing. Well, sure it was something, but still. It’s not like I remember anything about her, really. Not much, anyway. Not the fragrant touch, the shuddering scent, the radiant moans or soft taste of her. Certainly not her delicious beauty... all forgotten. Close to, at least. It’s not like I care. Shit, Omaha. Who even knows where that is? Just some little town on the tip of Nebraska, population 620,000 at 41° longitude by 96° latitude. It rains a lot, in season. She’s moving to Omaha. |