John Grochalski- Three Poems

summer fair people

there they are

the bored and the dull

they come out every year at this time

to suck on fried dough and undercooked italian sausage

to listen to terrible bands playing bad cover jams

the fat mothers and fat fathers munching kettle corn

their fat children bouncing around

in inflatable rooms that look ready to burst

teenage boys ready to pop the cherries of teenage girls

the dozens of happy young couples

eating dripping ice cream cones

pushing around wailing children in the humidity and heat

the old soldiers with their wwii and vietnam frocks

stumbling down the dirty block to drums that are off beat

the locals drunks coming out of local watering holes

leaning into corners to watch the action

they are all here sweating and dying

taking a respite from work and each other

watching the hot dog and pizza eating contests
that still bear witness to american gluttony

and the tepid might of our ever-dwindling spending dollar

laughing as their children vomit

from ancient spinning rides that look more

like torture devices than amusement

all of these slap-happy summer fair people

with this month’s catch phrase

plastered along their wide bellies and wide asses

the good citizens eating more shit that they

can shove in their faces

the good neighbors buying more shit

to sell to everyone at next year’s yard sale

the whole community walking around like grinning zombies

with balloon animals strapped to their heads

taking photos with corporate fast food mascots

and politicians who are just as swarthy and deceptive

be careful or you’ll end up just like them

waddling around drinking two gallon sodas

farting and burping and pissing the american dream

mad slow and stupid on fat sugar and salt

as the pigeons and rats and the homeless look on

waiting for it all to end again

so that they can finally feast

on all of this seasonal bounty.

thursday afternoon

there are five of them

waiting on the platform at 20^th avenue

two girls and three boys

when they get on the train, loud and vicious

they split up

the girls go toward one end

the boys sit next to me

they give the girls a chance to sit down

and then smallest one

(isn’t it always the smallest one)

starts

he cups his mouth

he shouts, ya’ll a bunch a pussies

ya’ll cunts

lydia….cunt

you too, maria

ya’ll a bunch a pussies, he repeats

so that only the deaf and the dead haven’t heard him

no one responds to the kid

not even the girls

maybe we’ve all grown too accustomed to this shit

or we just want to get the hell home

christ, he’s not even that old

leaning more toward thirteen than a young man

up with fellas

down with ugly bitches, he shouts

and it echoes through the train like a cannon shot

then the boys slap each other five and laugh

they are all dressed the same

in clothing telling them to OBEY

well, i guess they’re off to a great start in this country

i look down toward the girls

they are laughing and playing music

if the boys have gotten to them you’d never know

but girls have to learn early here

they have to learn to scrape indignity off with a smile

bitch whore cunt pussies

at 61^st street the little boy rises with me to leave

but not before getting in one more shot

ya’ll is ugly pussy bitch, he shouts

then he gets off the train laughing

but it doesn’t last too long

his face turns into a permanent smirk

i look at him

i wonder what it would take to grab him in the station

right here

right now

put the fear of god in the little punk

tell him if i ever catch you talking to women like that again….

this strutting piece of american privilege

on a thursday afternoon

he wouldn’t listen to me anyway

i’d be another pussy

so i let him go toward his connecting train

and i go off toward mine

doing my part to let the misogyny perpetuate

wondering what in the world  i’ll say about this

to my wife

our mothers

your sisters

to everyone’s daughter and niece.

when old friends become devoutly religious

at first there is some shock

or it is like watching a bad horror film

or there is no shock and it was always inevitable

but there is a hollow sadness

not unlike standing around someone’s wake

and you wonder if there was anything

that you could’ve done to save them

maybe called more

invited them out for a beer and some conversation

been the one to lend an ear and offer advice

instead of spending years stuck in your own malaise

looking for the kind of answers

that only come through bathing in fire

still you can’t believe that this is the guy

yes, that one posting photos of church breakfasts online

telling everyone that his favorite book is the bible

was once the dude who screwed everything that walked

behind his wife’s back

or how that one is now this foreign specimen

who enjoys christian rock and no longer drinks alcohol

was the one who used to beat his woman for no reason

or he was the one who always went to strip clubs with you

the one who got drunk in bars

and then made you spend hours casing downtown

looking for whores

it’s hard to look at these transformed hypocrites

dressed in their sunday best with their lifeless families

praising jesus, jesus, always jesus

hating gays and immigrants and all other enemies of the state

when you were once with them

swinging baseball bats at senior citizens

on snowy highways caught in a sweaty speed pill fervor

stealing tip money and dumping beer

on drunk girls in even drunker bars

listening with jealous glee as they told you blow job stories

done in church parking lots on the cheap

or how you sat idly in parks on humid summer nights

as they molested underage girls on clay tennis courts

you wonder what it was that caused them to fall so badly

to take up such a fragile and transparent yoke as organized religion

age or boredom or both?

and what kind of seething, perverted rage

still exists deep within the well of them

when it could come out to shine anew

you hope to hell that this is just temporary

but deep down you know that the religion trap lasts forever

and that there is nothing else to do for these lost souls

but close the internet browser on them

don’t answer the emails and never pick up the phone

when they call

mourn their memory until the pain no longer exists

get on with the living

instead of becoming as they have

just another one

of the walking dead

waiting on the afterlife.