crossing the 72nd street foot bridge
the chinese women
walk slowly
in front of me
laughing as they read sex graffiti
tiptoeing over broken bottles
as i daydream vodka and wine
and the tenants of independent wealth
they twirl their blue and yellow
IKEA umbrellas
like cabaret stars
but then quietly pass the man
who’s always drinking his beer
out of a can hidden in a paper bag
this is the after-work world in mid-may
in a moment when there is no rain
in a spring that could only be described
as deluge
crossing the 72nd street foot bridge
the rush hour traffic idles below us
as always, volcanic in its fury
the rumbling of engines
the honking of horns
a symphony of thunder
seemingly ready the strike us off our path
and combust
but still going nowhere
for miles and miles
in both directions.
Bio
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.
I like this poem, and well-crafted phrases like that rush hour is volcanic in its fury. I like the juxtaposition of the twirling umbrellas of the ladies in an easy saunter.