John Grochalski: “grape drink and snuff”

 

 

grape drink and snuff

once as a kid

i made jackson pollock 
splatters of purple chunks
on the hot pavement

i made getting sick an art

walking home in a daze
under the blistering sun

throwing up
throwing up

the latch key kid of the avant garde 

half a dozen cartons of grape juice
and a bottom lip full of mint-flavored snuff

for lunch

as the neighbor lady asked me if i was all right

and i wanted to tell her
that those free summer camp kids
who thought they had my fat boy number

those prince and princesses
of this tin-shack suburb

could never tell me that i wasn’t solid
that i didn’t live up to my potential

that i was art
as royal as they came

but instead
i spewed up my genius
in violet hues

all over the concrete again.

 

About the Author: 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), and The Philosopher’s Ship (Alien Buddha Press, 2018). He is also the author of the novels, The Librarian (Six Gallery Press 2013), and Wine Clerk (Six Gallery Press 2016).  Grochalski currently lives in Brooklyn, New York, in the part that voted for Trump, so may God have mercy on his soul.

 

More by John Grochalski:

“to abby wherever you are”

 

Image Credit: “Childs’ rare flowers, vegetables, & fruits” (1902) Public Domain

“to abby wherever you are” by John Grochalski

 

 

to abby wherever you are

i watch the little girl
sitting across from me

she is four years old
and is as impatient
with this stalling subway train as i am

she kicks her legs
and squirms in her seat
and complains to her mother
in impatient little kid whines

mama’s reaction is a mantra of shushes
and the impatient bark of her name, abby

mom has a fussy infant to attend to as well

i wish that i could act out like abby
kick my legs and squirm in my seat

impatiently whine to my wife
about infrastructure and the decline
of american ingenuity

but i’d end up in divorce court

i wish i could tell abby
that in thirty minutes
we will all reach the end
of this horrible saga together

that i will gallantly carry
her brother’s stroller up two flights of steep steps
as her mother offers many thank yous

and abby leads us up and up
toward the light of the quickly moving city

where the big tall buildings
aren’t always big tall lies

and a taste of the american dream
is as delicious as an ice cream cone.

 

About the Author: 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), and The Philosopher’s Ship (Alien Buddha Press, 2018). He is also the author of the novels, The Librarian (Six Gallery Press 2013), and Wine Clerk (Six Gallery Press 2016).  Grochalski currently lives in Brooklyn, New York, where the garbage can smell like roses if you wish on it hard enough.

 

Image Credit: “116TH STREET/COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY STATION. PLATFORM AND STAIRS TO MEZZANINE. – Interborough Rapid Transit Subway (Original Line), New York County, NY” The Library of Congress