John Grochalski- Two Poems

BIO: John Grochalski is the author of 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 novel, The Librarian (Six Gallery Press 2013), and the forthcoming novel, The Wine Clerk (Six Gallery Press 2016).  Grochalski currently lives in Brooklyn, New York, in the section that doesn’t have the bike sharing program.

the only adult on this block

if i’m your go-to guy

for civic responsibility

then surely polite society around here

has broken down and devolved more than i thought

but the water has been gushing

down seventy-fifth street for an hour

a formidable river cutting this part of brooklyn in half

most likely from a busted fire hydrant

and of course all of the people outside

are standing disguised as small packs of philosophers

asking each other, but what can we do?

the ones with cell phones

they’re stopping to take photos of the rushing watercourse

with that familiar skyward, tapping pose

i can tell they’re posting pics on social networking sites

instead of calling the proper authorities

so it comes down to me to play the only adult on the block

navigating the phone tree for 311

i watch thousands of gallons of water rush down the street

carrying sticks and leaves and paper

ubiquitous plastic bags and fast food wrappers

go sailing on by

to where, i have no idea

and the operator on 311, she wants to know more about me

than what’s actually going on

my name, my phone number

how long i’ve lived at the residency

lady, i say, what in the hell does this have to do with anything?

she says she needs the information for a report

report? look, i tell her, you’re losing water by the millions

while outside the denizens of the street are still strolling around confused

walking their asshole dogs while kids cry and try to jump into the deluge

311 operator tells me the EPA has one-day to respond to my claim

in one day we’ll all be living underwater, i say

this borough will be a virtual atlantis

but that doesn’t scare her at all

she probably lives in staten island

she thanks me for calling and tells me to have a nice day

as i stand there with the dead flip phone in my hand

watching all of this waste continue to pour down the street

thinking next time this happens

i’m not calling anyone

i’m going out for a fast food cheeseburger instead.

42

to be

quite honest

i thought i’d be a legend by now

though i’ve done nothing legendary

one of those self-satisfied artists

who could no longer

get the word down

choosing instead to rest on my laurels

repackage the old hits

in the same different way

but it’s still the struggle

the hangovers

the early morning noise of the city

waiting on the right words to come and save me

life is like that

some get the brass ring easily

and others get indigestion in the middle of lunch

it’s all a crap shoot

violent, chaotic at times

but mostly dull and unsatisfactory for everyone

with little glimmers of magic thrown in

to let you know what it could always be like

we accept it and call it existence

i accept it

and still wake

hoping to beat the dawn at its own game

with poems and fiction

a greatest hits collection still in the mixing stages

the collected works perpetually on hold

forty-two

placed lovingly before obscurity’s long gaze

anonymity’s fragile kiss

at times no longer sure

if i even know myself

am i the aging man always walking with me

his puffy visage collected in the warped glass

of cars windows and buildings

or am i still that young ambitious kid

the one who’d never settle in long enough

to embrace his own

fleeting mortality

or some sad sack song

such as this.