BLUEBERRIES

several years ago I went on
exactly four dates with this guy
whose name I can’t remember.

for whatever reason
I’ve stored some of
our encounters in my mind,

like how he brought me blueberries
to work, at the counter where
i was selling tickets during

the day;
and he asked me if I wanted
to have sex with him over a
text message.

I think he heard voices because
sometimes he’d stop and listen and
look to the side where nobody was
standing.

we went to see a
Coen Brothers movie,

and I felt embarrassed because he laughed really
loud the whole time.

he met me at Kaldis where I seemed to offend him about something I never put together.
(his nose was running)

he rode his bike there, in the
cold, i gave him a ride home,

i was scared.


Carol and Amber lived in the
Roanoke on Ludlow before they decided
to cool down,
before they decided to break-up.

it involved
getting separate apartments;

so Carol and I signed a
lease on 12th and Race
and Amber lived down the
street, a bicycle’s ride away,
a walk in the snow.

we sat around Carol’s
desk and listened to
music on her computer.

we made mixes

we drank coffee in the winter

we had a TV and VCR

we had a cordless phone
and one of us was a phone sex
operator all day long.

when guys called for requisite
humiliation, our group of friends would
pause the TV and laugh
fake laughter, enough to fill
the room, enough to fill
the man on the phone in the
cold that winter calling
from a different city,
calling from a different room.

we only needed two places
other than home:
a place to get warm and
a night to go dancing.

Kaldis had two bathrooms.

the non-smoking side was
a model-home for visitors

and on the other side i had a
date with a schizophrenic

on the other side i had
too much coffee

on the other side
Alan was commissioned to
paint his art all around us.

at home, one of us was a
phone sex operator all day long.

she sounded like a little girl;
she gave lots of spankings;
she was a feminist;
she was a sadist.

we made out in the bedroom on
the floor during a party.

she told
me not to get nervous.

every thursday night we went
dancing at Jacob’s.

we parked in the alley next to
the building (every single time).

we walked in like we owned the
place (every single time).

say “hello” to Jaunita,
he’s a really good bartender,
get in line for a drink.

i kissed a girl on the dance floor.

i fell off the dance floor.

i climbed the ladder and requested a song.

i went to bed the next day.

Kari and I made-out on the car ride here.
she’s dead in a car accident now.
she’s dead in a car accident all the time now.

the day I found out, I brushed my teeth.

I was eating a crab cake on Main St when Bethami
called and we met her at
the hospital and then Kari died
and stayed Kari in her early
20s forever.

I chanted in my car
that morning and didn’t
know why.

It rained all afternoon
it was dangerous rain.

Carol and I started buying
pot from our neighbor downstairs.

her daughter, whose name I
can’t remember, went to the
Creative and Performing Arts
School.

she wanted to have
slumber parties at our place.

she’d come knocking at our door
after we were already stoned on
her mom’s weed.

I hope she’s Madonna now.

Carol and I paid the bills
erratically.

one of us thought the
heat wasn’t working.
one of us wanted to sleep
in the same bed.

one of us bought an
electric blanket.

Now i’m anchored to the
university, I lead a university-
life.

I live inside the little
map with the little buildings,
the shuttle drives by my house
in half hour increments
and we learn things.

Kim and I fell in love at
a potluck on 12th and Race;
she was in graduate school
and I was keeping warm.

we have a son named Desi,
he’s starting to dance and
point at things.

it seems like his life will go
on forever.

Carol and I were eating
breakfast one morning
when we saw two men shooting
at each other in the snow.

it was hard to believe because of
the snow.

I ordered a pizza later that day
and was
afraid to go outside.

I hold onto the memory like a
smalltown girl with
grocery bags.
I didn’t even know how to
park on our street, let alone
process violence.

insert the total number of
my graduating class;
Randy Travis and Garth Brooks;
how many stop lights in town;
and when we finally got a McDonalds.

the man who swept the stairs
of the church put money
in my meter so I wouldn’t
get tickets (right in front of the Lord’s Gym).

Washington Park was just a
gazebo and a bunch of
people I didn’t know-----back then.

Carol and Amber eventually
broke-up and Kari died.
Kim and I fell in love.
and the guy, whose name I can’t remember,
brought blueberries to the museum while i was working.

now it seems like i’ll remember all of those things forever.
.
.
.
.
YVETTE NEPPER lives and writes in the city she loves, Cincinnati, OH. Her chapbook, 26 poems for grown ups and children, was published by Perfect Lovers Press last year.

LAURA BIRDSALL composed the music and managed the soundtrack production for the poem "Blueberries."