you don't know jack

by Elizabeth Jill

     You don't know Jack 
     like I do. 
     Not even birds know him really 
     and little birds know a lot, 
     least that's what they tell me 
     as I perch with them 
     being a green mother and all. 
     "Yo, here's some wheat germ, mates." 
     And then they sing, oh yes they do. 
     But when it comes to Jack  
     not even they know. 
     So they stop their thrumming 
     and listen to me fill them in 
     give them the lowdown 
     the latest scoop. 
     And then I assure them in their shock, 
     "Yeah, you don't know Jack like I do."
     Birds are not any freer than you are. 
     They don't own Wikipedia 
     and they stay clear of Windows. 
     Of course, Jack is in all of these places 
     and you probably know this. 
     But you still don't know Jack like I do, 
     like I've met  
     like you think you've met but haven't. 
     So, when you write about him 
     you are only writing about glimpses you've had, 
     perhaps you were smacked upside, 
     spun around a bit, 
     maybe even put in a choke-hold. 
     All this is nothing compared to knowing. 
     Be thankful for what you don't know, 
     be thankful for every free breath 
     then be thankful again 
     when life is not a series of 
     one deference after another 
     until you are buried under the extreme 
     smothered by Jack and your whole life is Jack. 
     And when the day comes 
     that a little bird 
     lands at your feet 
     be utterly grateful 
     that all you have 
     is a bit of wheat germ to offer 
     and that you don't know Jack. 


Posted on 04/20/2012
Copyright © 2021 Elizabeth Jill

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 04/21/12 at 01:12 PM

It suffices that I know Jilly, and JACK CAN GO TO? which would be a redundant trip as he, if Jack is a he, is already there and always in the same spot, never moves away from there, for Jack is a fixed and dying star, unlike the ever blazing comet which Jilly you are as this ode clearly illustrates and so full of all the philosophical beams that I crave and which sustain the birds, even the bees in me. this ode, this ode is to die for, but mostly it is to live for and what does Jack know about living? nada, lest Jilly blew a breath in him, if Jack is a him, then Jack would know, would certainly know, what a blessing it is to know, Jilly and her song(s) for the living.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/21/12 at 01:29 PM

Thought provoking piece, Jill. Love the choice of vocabulary and construction. Kudos to you and Jack!

Posted by Ava Blu on 06/03/12 at 07:06 PM

i know jack very well; i wish i didn't

Posted by Johnny Crimson on 07/13/12 at 12:19 AM

Excellent ...I enjoyed the delivery as well as the poem.

Posted by Veronica Phoenics on 12/03/13 at 11:07 AM

another very memorable poem, with rhythm that makes your heart tune in and listen!

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