15 4 / 2014

14 4 / 2014

the-awkward-pentecostal asked: I adore your poetry. Although i love writing poetry, its very rare i read it. The symbolism goes over my head to easily. But your poems is what poetry should be. Real, deep, and funny without having to look too far for the meaning or the joke.

Thanks so much, that’s what I have been aiming for :D

14 4 / 2014

Let’s stay together for the plasma

because at $4.25 an unleaded gallon,

you can’t afford to hate me,

I can’t afford another smart fridge,

and we can’t afford life’s minimum payments solo.

What I did with Megan

and what you did with Tommy,

the Starbucks guy

the rounded high school sweetheart

the neighbor’s twenty-something

the brown man with the rusted lawnmower—

that’s all water under the outdoor Jacuzzi.

I’ll  take the guestroom

(though I never liked the peppermint Ralph Lauren sheets)

since it has the rainforest noise machine

we bought at Sharper Image

in hopes sleeping bodies wouldn’t hear

what you now do with the king

of double-shots and caramel pumps.

It’ll be fun

like the college days all over again

when you went to Saint Mary’s all-girl’s school

and you’d distract proctor Turner,

I’d sneak in,

and the morning would light

already beaming faces.

Yet—

we’d be sneaking amongst ourselves.

You’ll come into the kitchen,

wearing his oversized shirt

and Megan will wear mine

while isolation is reserved

for the marble kitchen island

as you sip from a mug with “cattitude,”

and I pretend the newspaper

is more relevant than cnn.com.

We can still entertain.

You won’t need to cut coupons,

and friends will laud us

for our progressive bohemian ways.

Bohemian is in this season,

and I know how you like the stuff

that’s in

then out

then in

then out.

-Jonathan Flike

07 4 / 2014

03 4 / 2014

02 4 / 2014

A texter and a tweeter

walk towards each other,

and digital worlds collide

with heads down.

Lady Gaga’s

love for Judas fades away

as Skull Candies

fall to the ground.

The latest gossip

rests in an unfinished tweet

and the textee

on the other end

is anxious about

whether the texter

will send an

“I love you too.”

The bystanders stare and hope

the phones are okay

because Apple doesn’t cover

cracked screens,

and back covers

along with lithium-ion batteries

skid across concrete

as human contact

is made.  

-Jonathan Flike

01 4 / 2014

"I went Pro and all I got was this crappy hat."

Jonathan Flike

01 4 / 2014

25 3 / 2014

14 3 / 2014

Mom’s taco Tuesdays

pulled me through puberty,

wet re-fried dreams of Rosarita

in traditional Mexican-style garb

puckering enchilada-colored lips,

grinding on growing preteen bits

until midnight horchata spits

stain laundered linens

from a ConAgra fanboy

with a taste for Chicanas—

older mamacitas that know

the male machismo. 

-Jonathan Flike