John Grochalski - Three Poems

Snowballs

i’m addicted to the gloom
the misery of the daily race

i miss so many moments this way

moments like this

throwing snowballs
while we wait for the bus
to take us both to work

hurling ice balls across 77th street
hitting walls and fences, trees in the distance

laughing like two idiots
our love as crystal as the ice shavings
melting on your black gloves

there are so many things to talk about
the worst kind of trivial business

i want to keep quiet about it all

but i’m addicted to the gloom
i feed on it

i miss too many of these moments
years of joy passing between us

undiscovered by me

for a moment like this
i have to work the silence into an art
just to catch it

i miss moments the way working stiffs
miss busses

please not today

today i know i’m keeping this one

here it is.



The Rape of the 15 Year-old

i fear for the kids
found her unconscious
underneath a bench
near the faculty
parking lot
flown to a hospital
in a helicopter
in critical condition
ten of them watched
while ten of them did it
over a 2 ½ hour
period of time
like a long movie
like a seminar
or a quick baseball game
like playing ball in the court
it seemed like a good idea
at the time
a little fun
on a saturday night
it was so beautiful out
the full-moon
the ambiance
the homecoming dance
the way the corsage matched
the dress
the dimly lit alleyway
where she was lead
a nice night
a warm october night
blood and come
all down her legs
pumped away at her
until she couldn’t
see anymore
saliva on her chest
get out your
camera phones
motherfuckers
for the money shot
christ how i
i fear for the kids.



The Best and the Worst of Them

the worst of them talk
without thinking and they share
everything that comes
into their heads

while she dances alone
to a stones song
pulling her shirt up
in the half-empty bar

the worst of them play darts
and talk sports
or they eat frozen yogurt
on sunny spring afternoons
on sterile streets

they have repulsive ambition
the worst of them

the best of them
haven’t even gotten out of bed yet

as she grinds her ass
into her lover’s cheeks
moaning

her lover
glassy-eyed
with three teeth left in his mouth
and an ac/dc t-shirt
just bought off a street vendor

as the best of them sit
in quiet contemplation of nothing
thoughtless
taking these moments for themselves
before the beast will
have at them

while the worst of them talk
to fill the void
enveloping the silence

as she smacks
the jukebox
because it stopped playing
her songs

more money pissed away
on another endless
saturday afternoon

sitting with the best and worst
of them

and everyone who’s here
who’s somewhere in between
wishing there was somewhere else
to go

something



John Grochalski lives in Brooklyn, New York.