Poetry: Total by Jonathan S Baker

Total

She's talking to me and it's important 

but it's heavy and it's early.

My mind is a sponge,

dry and brittle and full of holes.

I don't know what she is looking for

but I pray it's on the side

of this cereal box.

I'm sorry I can't talk

about your mother at this moment.

I'm reading over these documents.

 

         Nutritional Facts

 

serving size three - quarters of a cup

How many bowls would it take

to equal all the nutrients 

in a single cup of Christ?

 

Her mother isn't getting around well.

She wants a bed in my library for when

her mom comes to stay,

to be infirm, to die.

My parents had the good grace 

to not be a burden,

to bow out early.

 

There is 110 calories, 

150 with skim milk

just enough to wet the bowl

even my corn flakes are thirsting for more.

Thinking about the milk, in my head 

I make a joke about her mother 

being a cow too dried up to make milk,

but it's because I'm conditioned 

to make mother-in-law jokes

by primetime sitcoms

and not anything against her

specifically.

She's fine. life is fine.

 

I have needs.

I need %100 of my daily requirements

based on a 2,000 calorie diet,

based on skin that needs touched,

based on an ego that needs stroked,

based on what I hear on the street.

 

Her mom needs to be cared for

by the daughter she didn't care for.

To be fair, my introduction to her

was horror stories.

Gut punching.

Total Fat

saturated and trans

maybe I'm not a man

I keep failing at manhood.

How many bowls would I have to eat

to equal the total euphoria

of being held and cared for and

to feel safe?

Why is this a question of manhood?

Her mother would probably know.

 

She is still talking about the future.

I am focusing on sodium.

I want to walk to the sea 

where I will scoop salt

from the shores with my bare hands.

Be like him.  Be peace for me please.

I will leave soon for work

and we only have now.

 

She is still talking 

her mother's situation is dire

and I only have the ingredients left

corn maybe from my hometown

and preservatives, life preservers from spoilage.

and dyes. Even my breakfast is made up

hiding behind a spray of

yellow.  Makes it look fresh

young and ahead

of a life that is going to drag it down.

 

I raise my bowl to my lips

drink from this 

this is my blood

and know everlasting life.

 

Walking with my box and bowl

I kiss her, a peck on the cheek.

Three names for sugar

and love still ain't too sweet.

It's a requirement an obligation

a debt you didn't sign up for

to a loan shark charging interest

on a complete breakfast 

you never got to eat.

 

As I walk my empty 

bowl and spoon to the sink 

I hear her 

I love her

and I want this

and she wants this

but I can't afford all

the cereal it would take

to get any satisfaction

out of this anymore.

Jonathan S Baker lives and works in Evansville Indiana just above the frown of the Ohio River. They are the author of 13 books of poetry including being the co-author of Centaur from Dark Heart Press.