THREE POEMS – John Grotchalski

Posted: May 5, 2012 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

king of these four walls
the hall light
keeps buzzing
you can hear it
through the walls
and you know
the super won’t
fix it until at least
the new year
so you might as well get used to it
as you have the fruit flies
that won’t die
and the weeks
without end
outside you hear the kids
the cars
the rain
and you drink
your scotch
and wish for silence
knowing it is
too much to ask.
people write you about
new homes
new jobs
and new babies
and you wonder how it is
that they haven’t
killed themselves yet
how they haven’t
drown in the mendacity
of the american dream
you wonder why you haven’t
done away with yourself
as well.
maybe you’re just tired
tired of the words
and the trick of life
maybe it is best
to just sit here forever
king of these four walls
with two lazy cats
for your court
and a floor full of dust
as your royal subjects.

norman mailer bookmark

the norman mailer bookmark

looks up at me

while i’m creating another

gloomy symphony in the morning


i think about using it to kill

the cockroach

who has overstayed his welcome


but the norman mailer bookmark

talks to me


it says

look at you kid

almost forty

gray hair and nothing to show for it

but a sore back and sore arms

union dues and another hangover


the norman mailer bookmark is smug


i don’t like its smile


it was a genius already at forty


a legend


i’ve grown sick of legends


so i take the bookmark off the bathroom sink

go after the cockroach with it


but he’s too fast


then i take the normal mailer bookmark

and toss it in the garbage can


i go and get the one

with shakespeare’s dull face on it

and stick it in my book


at least i’ve read his shit.


saturday morning symphony
trying to jack-off
on a saturday morning
but then the neighbor’s
fire alarm goes off across the street
blaring into the living room
even with the windows closed
and soon it feels
as if the whole neighborhood is outside
packs and packs
of the same ugly faces you see everyday
standing there gawking
as if mesmerized by the bleating sound
and so you cannot jack-off
but instead pass the time reading
an interview with a poet
as the alarm rings and rings its insanity
and more people gather outside
to comment dully on this latest event
of course, now you have their voices
and the alarm infesting your home
no self-satisfaction in the morning
only this interview with a poet
who seems to get published everywhere
that won’t take you
this poet who says it’s all about networking
like he’s trying to get stock tips
instead of trying to get the word down
but reading an interview with a poet
is easier than trying to jack-off
in all of this noise
you don’t have to concentrate
on what a poet’s saying
the way you do tits and ass and cunt
a poet’s words are as common as dog shit
you think, reading this drivel
but soon the interview is finished
the poet is thankful for the blessings
that have come his way
and some unknown saint has called the cops
to shut the fire alarm off
the people have scattered
from outside the window
they have gone back to the business
of living and dying on this block
you think about giving jacking off
one more try
but the feeling is gone
so you grab a book
and lay back on the couch
turn on the radio for some solace
only its playing wagner’s
flight of the valkyries
you shut it off and close your eyes
as that fire alarm starts up again
the cops starting shouting back and forth
at each other
in the fresh spring dawn
and the weekend starts to seem
like another layer of hell
that you’ll hopefully have the courage
to pass through.

  1. abichica says:

    wooww!! amazing!! :-)

  2. Just realized why I recognize John’s name. He’s published on Underground Voices this month. A busy man.

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