JOSHUA KLEINBERG

REDEEMER, ME

Does the penguin feel deserted?

Are you pranking me with this kiss?

Are those flowers real? Really,
they look so real. Did the voucher
work? Do you have a Sprint phone
I could borrow for a week? I’m ready
for an answer.

I’ve got fifty on the Croats.
If they hold on, I’ve got six-hundred.

Is there any other way?

I’ll make you feel what I’m feeling—
in the branches, a moist heaving—
(or I won’t and what of it?)
In the mordant sun, a disclaimer:

You’ll never lose those eyes,
your kind are gods now.

Is this a standard obstacle, doubt?
What was Lincoln like at my age?

It’s coming slowly, trenches sloppy,
I dug a tunnel, but they caught me.

My music, my mornings
were embarrassing. I wasn’t
technically embarrassed however.

I don’t want to be one of those guys
who the sky is just falling for.

I’ve got a pithy vision, but in truth
I think the scaremongers are right.

And I’m not sure I could love
in a second language.

But no matter, I don’t believe
in every tapestry I read.

I believe I can do calisthenics.

Or aren’t there any new cereals
hitting the shelves?

I can only hope they’ll remember me
from the focus group.

I hope they won’t remember what I said.

Joshua Kleinberg was born in Florida and grew up there and in Ohio. With Dana Jaye Cadman, he runs Banquet Reading Series in Brooklyn.