Starting with the Last Name Grochalski, published by Coleridge Street Press, is the newest poetry collection by John Grochalski, author of the poetry collections The Noose Doesn't Get Any Looser After You Punch Out, and Glass City as well as the novel, The Librarian.
Here's a sample:
starting with the last name grochalski
starting with the last name
grochalski
i could trace my lineage
down the bar
at sufak's round corner
on saturday afternoons in pittsburgh
planting roots in the linoleum floor
with grandfathers and uncles and a stray cousin or two
starting with their last names
at the other end
working my way back down the bar
beer and shots
gambling pools and stray packs of smokes
tracing the lineage of everything
that emptied generations
of family fortune
into the rusty till
bug noir
sure enough
he was resting right there
underneath a table
right where the dame
told me he'd be
lime green
a million legs
and a million eyes
looking back at me
trying to blend in
i knew the mug
had seen his type
crawling across
a million walls
and a million floors
but this time
i had him cornered, see
i pulled out my piece
but then i thought better
i blew at him
sent him scurrying
across the tile
the dame
just looked at me
i knew what she expected
what all dames wanted
she wanted
blood and guts
her eyes looked hungry
for murder
but i just winked at her
doffed my hat
killin's not my thing
sweetheart
i said
before walking away
back into
the fog of night
inventing abstraction
she sits in the foyer
she says, you're just the man
i've been waiting for
i tell her that it feels like i've been dragged through glass
she hands me a twisted paperclip
says, take this
i tell her that i'm too old for acceptance
she leads me to a window that is open
with a gust of wind blowing in
and says, this has been driving me nuts
i tell her that the insane are closer to god in their way
she says, see if you can get that paper clip
to brace the window shut
and i tell her that there's no saving us now.
she says, a strong guy like you
should be able to jimmy-rig that window
so i tell her that i'm just no good anymore
i'm almost a month away from thirty-nine
and i've never made a dollar that didn't try to kill me
that i can't even get the neighbor across the street
to fix his house alarm
she says, a nice man like you can probably do anything
i tell her that i'm going to get drunk again today
that all those whiskey and wine bottles in the basement
are my cold sacrifices
but she says, if only you could get that paperclip in there
then things would be so much better
and i think she probably
doesn't read the newspapers
she says, there, like that
get that paperclip between those holes
and i try and i try and i try
i hand her back the twisted metal
and tell her that it's no use
and the world is full of broken windows
and broken people
with and without love
wind gusts and paperclips
some who understand what kandinsky was doing
when he had moscow by the balls
and the rest of us
who are just trying to get alone
with a quieter kind of death
starting with the last name
grochalski
i could trace my lineage
down the bar
at sufak's round corner
on saturday afternoons in pittsburgh
planting roots in the linoleum floor
with grandfathers and uncles and a stray cousin or two
starting with their last names
at the other end
working my way back down the bar
beer and shots
gambling pools and stray packs of smokes
tracing the lineage of everything
that emptied generations
of family fortune
into the rusty till
bug noir
sure enough
he was resting right there
underneath a table
right where the dame
told me he'd be
lime green
a million legs
and a million eyes
looking back at me
trying to blend in
i knew the mug
had seen his type
crawling across
a million walls
and a million floors
but this time
i had him cornered, see
i pulled out my piece
but then i thought better
i blew at him
sent him scurrying
across the tile
the dame
just looked at me
i knew what she expected
what all dames wanted
she wanted
blood and guts
her eyes looked hungry
for murder
but i just winked at her
doffed my hat
killin's not my thing
sweetheart
i said
before walking away
back into
the fog of night
inventing abstraction
she sits in the foyer
she says, you're just the man
i've been waiting for
i tell her that it feels like i've been dragged through glass
she hands me a twisted paperclip
says, take this
i tell her that i'm too old for acceptance
she leads me to a window that is open
with a gust of wind blowing in
and says, this has been driving me nuts
i tell her that the insane are closer to god in their way
she says, see if you can get that paper clip
to brace the window shut
and i tell her that there's no saving us now.
she says, a strong guy like you
should be able to jimmy-rig that window
so i tell her that i'm just no good anymore
i'm almost a month away from thirty-nine
and i've never made a dollar that didn't try to kill me
that i can't even get the neighbor across the street
to fix his house alarm
she says, a nice man like you can probably do anything
i tell her that i'm going to get drunk again today
that all those whiskey and wine bottles in the basement
are my cold sacrifices
but she says, if only you could get that paperclip in there
then things would be so much better
and i think she probably
doesn't read the newspapers
she says, there, like that
get that paperclip between those holes
and i try and i try and i try
i hand her back the twisted metal
and tell her that it's no use
and the world is full of broken windows
and broken people
with and without love
wind gusts and paperclips
some who understand what kandinsky was doing
when he had moscow by the balls
and the rest of us
who are just trying to get alone
with a quieter kind of death
John Grochalski aims straight for the heart of things. With equal measures of acid and awe, he lights out for territory originally assayed by the legendary Charles Bukowski. Roll down the windows, fire up the imagination, and pass the bottle: you're in for one helluva ride."-Don Wentworth, Editor, Lilliput Review
John Grochalski has kept a daily (yes DAILY as in he writes a new poem for it EVERY SINGLE DAY) poetry blog since 2008 called Winedrunk Sidewalk.
And if you fashion yourself the lucky type, you can enter to win a copy of Starting With The Last Name Grochalski.
Regardless, you should pick up a copy of Starting With the Last Name Grochalski. You won't be disappointed.
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