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holiday spirit
amazing ass
naked
on her hands
and knees
on her unkempt bed
writhing
clutching
untangled
christmas lights
amazing ass
illuminated
by youth
and a rainbow of color
crying out to the gods
i was only
twenty years old
and
the holiday spirit
had never
come
harder
for me.
my neighborhood capitalist
he paces the block
up and down, down and up
at least a dozen times a day
cigarette in hand
cell phone by his ear
scruffy beard
potbelly
lime-green crocks on his feet
in any type of weather
misunderstood genius of industry
barking orders at some poor schmuck
on the other end of the line
he always ends up in front of my living room
vomiting
stock quotes
letting the smoke in my window
along with his capitalistic bullshit
while i watch him
helpless with murder and hate
thinking
there are thousands out there
sick and dying
but he’s not one of them
and that says more about america
than any hopeless poem
than i’ve ever written
about this fucking place
or will ever chance
to try and write again.
poem to the man idling in his car getting yelled at by his woman
human bonds
can be so fragile
or they can be thick like iron chains
clamped down on your soul
and inescapable
save death
and she is the theatrical kind this morning
standing outside the car shouting
waving her arms like an orchestra conductor
stamping her feet
a sweating, ghoulish she-hulk
in a sunkist t-shirt and wrap around shades
you had time to take
the kids to school this morning
but you’re just leaving me on a street corner
to take a bus?
all of us sacks of shit
stumbling off to work
know your cardinal sin now, buddy.
that you didn’t just drive off
makes you an idiot or a saint in my book
life is never enough
for the people who find themselves
entwined in our own
people are bloodsuckers by nature
imagine our contentment
if we were molded to be alone
and simply stare at walls?
and you’ve been idling here too long
serving her demented pleasures
i don’t know how
you’re getting out of this now
maybe try buddhism
or reminiscing on when you and she
were young and liked to fuck
and i can’t stick around
to find out your fate
the love song of capitalism calls to me too
the ethereal hymn
of lost hours and wasted years
so good luck
god speed
and for the record, my friend
that bus stop she’s been bitching about?
it’s less than
a block away.
poolsharks
when i was young
and bored
i used to hang around
with steve and calvin
they liked to go to expensive clubs
drink overpriced beer
and watch dull women in fancy clothes
dance with dull men
in the neon and mist
they talked about all of the pussy they were going to get
and nobody ever went home with anyone
sometimes
i could get them to go to a bar
but only if the place had a pool table
steve and calvin
would play pool
while i sat there and smoked
and drank and watched the people
or the blank walls
trying my best to understand people
who played pool and went to expensive clubs
people who always needed to be entertained
steve and calvin
were loud when they played pool
they fought over shots
they fought over solids and stripes
they hit their balls off the pool table
and knocked over people’s drinks
they threatened to hit each other with their pool sticks
and made general spectacles
of themselves when they played
you could tell that the bar people
didn’t like them very much
when they were done
steve and calvin would sit with me at the table
drink their, warm waiting beers
looking sullen and dumb
they talked about how boring the bar was
how ugly the women were
then we’d leave
and go to the expensive clubs
drink overpriced beer
and watch dull women in fancy clothes
dance with dull men
in the neon and mist
they talked about all of the pussy they were going to get
and nobody ever went home with anyone
on those nights as well.
true worth
sitting here
in this small office
of white walls
and insanity
at this small desk
of despair
full of breadcrumbs
left for midnight mice
my precious time
exchanged for money
to pay my bills
and rent on a place i’m barely at
i stare down at the cockroach traps
badly hidden under
heating vents
and feel
reminded
yet again
of this world’s idea
of my true value
my true worth.
John Grochalski is the author of the poetry collections The Noose Doesn’t Get Any Looser After You Punch Out (Six Gallery Press, 2008), Glass City (Low Ghost Press, 2010), In the Year of Everything Dying (Camel Saloon, 2012), Starting with the Last Name Grochalski (Coleridge Street Books, 2014), The Philosopher’s Ship (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), and Eating a Cheeseburger During End Times (Kung Fu Treachery, 2021). He is also the author of the novels The Librarian (Six Gallery Press, 2013), Wine Clerk (Six Gallery Press, 2016), and P-Town: Forever (Alien Buddha Press, 2021). Grochalski currently lives in Brooklyn, New York.