Ivan Jenson

I don’t know how I do it
I am able to walk and talk
and see Jane run
while also chewing gum
and then I hum
the national anthem
to the heartbeat
of my own drum
you know the one…
that keeps me
above ground
yet still under
the wonder
of the sun…
I am that guy
with his dog
grappling with a past
and a shoe lace
in a knot
that cannot
be undone

I don’t know jack
about my ancestors
nor do I give a darn
about my forefathers
and I really should show
more emotion
for the fate of the ocean
but I am too busy
protesting on behalf
of the only
endangered
species that matters
me…
see,
hunters
are poaching
those that blow their
own horns
and these confidence
killers
take the rawhide
of raw talent
and exploit it
in the flee market
of free spirits
where it is sold
to those who hate
everything about
themselves
and then whatever
is left is ground
into stardust
glitter litter
swept away
and then washed
down by suds
of green envy

perhaps in
a third world country
or in the Far East
or in the Upper Peninsula
or Down Under
I will be appreciated
and adulated
the way I
was when I reigned
supreme in the
Disney World dynasty
of my delicious
tenacious pre-teen
gold-leafed
time frame
back when I looked
like I was ready to star
in an afternoon special
about a goody-good
who made good
with all the goodies
a goofball could
get hold of
and I am catching
the next
non-stop flight
heading back in time
to a place
that currently
has a high exchange
but low
currency rate
on unconditional
love

search yourself for
a talent
that you can squander
hunt for potential
that can never be reached
then reach for stars
that snicker at you
from light years away
now plan to stand up
expectations
at the altar
where you promise
to commit
and put a ring around
rosy promises
throw away
a perfectly
good morning
by sleeping
into the afternoon
and put up a
“do not disturb” sign
on your door
just in case
opportunity knocks
in the night
and finally
deeply
disappoint
those that believe
in you most
by panhandling
your affairs
with homeless
humility
just for the
Zen of it

One day you are going to
write a story, poem
or paint a picture so
perfectly framed
it should be a crime
and this deep
depiction
of someone
or something
spectacular
or unassuming
will register
with those in
the know
who will promptly
recognize
the energy contained
within the pigment of your
paint or your pointed
imagination
and then you will
penetrate
the consciousness
of the voyeur
connoisseurs
of your genre
but this is only
possible
if and when
you stop
crumpling up
your endangered
endeavors
and throwing them
in the wastebasket
you bought
at Walgreens

Maybe I did ask to be
here
and maybe I
was offered
a comprehensive list
of parents
to choose from
and it might well be
I was given a reason
and a mission to accomplish
and each and every character
I have ever met are merry
marionettes speaking
the pre-planned script
written by a bevy
of seasoned Sesame Street
styled ventriloquists
who were hired
by the executive
producer of
the greatest
mini-series ever told
to guide me
from my ABC’s to my
XY and final Z
see,
I’d rather be
the brainchild
of a TV show
tycoon
than the bastard
baby of a prehistoric
baboon

When they streamlined
the company
they let go
of the guy who
daydreamed at
the watercooler
and whistled
in his cubicle
you know that
guy who always
had something
nice to say
or said nothing
at all
the one who
always came
in late
and left early
has been laid off
and I heard
he stopped
to smell
some roses
on his way
to the exit
door