Wednesday, 14 December 2011

John Grochalski

idiot morn

stuck in the doldrums
idiot morn
as the cats meow and hiss
smell each other’s ass
coaxing myself out of bed
to the sound of the neighbor’s watching
with a wine acid stomach
and a fatal disposition
not a soul on the street
just streetlights
and damned christmas ones
really feeling the idiot morn
as i suck down cockroach laced coffee
and a walker percy novel
to the sound of rain and wind
as others move
from one hell to the next
with their radiators boiling
the climate change rag
with their small bugs scurrying toward
the sugar and flour bowls
this idiot morn
my stomach in knots
my tongue twisted
my brain a lump
my fingernails bitten down to red, raw flesh
at the thought of being only at
the beginning of the week
at the thought of more idiot morns
like this one
to come
the sight of sunrise blending
with the budding traffic
where horns honk infinite
and there is
already no hope for mankind
in less than the first hour
of alertness
on these
everlasting days
of our gifted existence.   

John Grochalski is the author of two books of poems The Noose Doesn’t Get Any Looser After You Punch Out (Six Gallery Press 2008) and Glass City (Low Ghost Press, 2010). Grochalski currently lives in Brooklyn, New York.

1 comment:

Peter Greene said...

Thanks for the poem, Rufous and John! Enjoyed it. Perhaps this comment will stick! Apparently, my previous one just slid off the page and loped away. I wonder where it is now.