John Grochalski

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.



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.

One thought on “John Grochalski

  1. 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.

Comments are closed.