“Here Comes Someone Whose Name I Should Know”
We have met so many times,
you and I.
And yet I have no idea
what your name is
as I stand,
frozen,
inane grin on my face.
Do you have a name?
Here you come,
smiling,
calling my name
as well as the names of my wife,
children,
and dog, Fortinbras.
Which I kind of can’t believe you remember.
My God, you’re almost here.
And I will need to introduce you
to the person next to me
whose name may be Beth. Or Valentina. I’m not sure.
Here’s a quick thought—
not about your name
but about the urge I have right now
to just start running.
That would be a weird thing to do, though,
at a children’s birthday party.
But not as weird as what I do.
Which is stuff two cupcakes
into my mouth
so as not to be able to speak
but then choke
and spit them out
onto the man
whose name, it turns out, is Alan.
Which I now will never forget.
“Have a Nice Day”
At school drop-off,
one of the moms said
casually,
“Have a nice day!”
And I thought,
what the hell did she mean by that?
Does she think I don’t have nice days?
Was she being sarcastic?
She kind of hit the word day
as if to say,
Have a nice day, you freak.
Did I say something wrong?
Why did she use the word nice?
Does she think my days aren’t normally nice?
Maybe it was the have.
Have a nice day.
What does that even mean?
Like I don’t have any purpose to my days?
I’ll tell you what I have now.
I have a pain in the pit of my stomach
from that bomb you just dropped on me.
So, thanks for that.
You have a nice day, too!
That’s what I should have said.
“Our Weekend Without the Kids”
Alone
finally
in the car
just us two.
A night away at the fancy hotel.
Should we call them?
you asked
on the drive, smiling.
But also serious.
Nope, I said. We shouldn’t.
Your parents are fine with the kids.
You’re right, you said.
This is so fun without them.
When we got to our room you said,
Is it weird that I miss them?
I thought it was incredibly weird
As I barely remembered their names at this point.
I wanted to drink an overpriced beer
and have sex.
You had other fun plans.
Those plans included sitting
at the foot of the bed
with a glass of wine
crying
while looking at pictures of the kids on your phone.
So sex is probably off the table, I said,
as we checked out.
I think the man at the front desk thought I was talking to him.
“Unanswered E-mail to My Editor”
Dear Sally,
Struggling a bit with the anxious book.
Isn’t that funny? I’m anxious writing it.
Ha ha.
Anxious and also a little drunk.
Which is also funny.
Here’s a thought—
maybe we change the title to
“Love Poems (for People Who Cry for No Reason)”.
I could write that one! Kidding. Sort of.
E-mail me back soon.
Haven’t heard from you in a while.
John (Kenney)
(I’m one of your authors)
P.S.
I know that I am contractually obligated to deliver by January 30.
But that’s a crazy time-frame . . . maybe you were joking? (Hope so!)
John (Kenney)
From “Love Poems for Anxious People,” by John Kenney, to be published by G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
