The King of America


brooklyn blows
trump gas
5th avenue
apple hookah smells
for a tuesday night
i think
i mean i hope
they never fix this liquor store sign
so beautiful
half-pink neon
uor
like an exotic language
mixing with the night
my stomach hunger growls
at the scent of kabobs
lamb pyramids
hanging in restaurant windows
i walk
behind two arab girls
big american flag bags
slung over
small shoulders
talking pop music
new tv shows
still not enough evidence
for him
who
dips down low
sneers in their faces
says something i cannot hear
stop stuns them
walks off
ofay proud
like the king of america
strolling home
on a dead
summer
night.


--John Grochalski 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

EDITOR'S NOTE: Something Old, Something New (aka WE'RE OPEN FOR REVIEW REQUESTS)

Hey, pals!  Due to an incredible influx of acceptances (we're stacked for pubs until AUGUST), we had to temporarily shut our doors.  I am delighted to announce we are again  OPEN FOR SUBMISSIONS !  We've updated our guidelines; please read thoroughly before sending your awesome words/art/whatever.  AND!!!!  I am VERY excited to announce a new branch of the magazine!  For the first time, Punk Monk is open to review requests!  We will be reviewing books, collections, novellas, chapbooks, and microchaps. (Fiction, poetry, non-fiction, art, hybrid, ANYTHING accepted.) Our aim is to publish 1-4 reviews a month.   All reviews will be written by me, C.E. Hoffman .  This has been a long time coming, inspired by my personal frustrations seeking cool alt lit spaces that accept ARCs for review.  Many mags accept pre-written reviews, but won't review works in-house. This creates an unfortunate barrier for authors trying to promote their work.  I want to help reduce that barrier. Writer
Read more

If I Had A Son, I Would Teach Him About Evolution

I bled through the crotch of my pants and the Wonder Woman underwear I bought two and a half years ago on sale at Target while eating chocolate chip cookies in my bed. I put my hand between my thighs to wipe away the blood and realized, that God had once again decided to not put the embryo of Jesus Junior in my womb, leaving me free to continue reading blog posts tagged atheism. --Em Ramser
Read more

PUNK PROSE: Best by Jenna Brown

 Best  When I saw the name on the taco bag, I hit a mailbox and tumbled off my bike. No tacos fell out, but I did scrape my knee.  One knock, two knocks, three.  My brand-new boyfriend has been hanging around here for months. He talks about her too much. Sometimes I think I know more about her than I know about him.  But she doesn’t know me. Before I left, I looked around the apartment. Her velvet ottoman. Subtle art that looks expensive. Plants. Record player. Her designer clothes. Her band name in cursive script hanging on her wall. She has a Masters in art. Her parents supported her travels through Europe, where she learned to shape wire with a soldering iron.  I hop on my bike and pedal away for my next delivery.  I don’t think I want to be alive anymore. He met her before he met me. They went out on a few dates and it fizzled out. I wasn’t allowed to hear the details.  And I wasn’t allowed to meet her. Today, the universe via  Señor Gato’s Speedy Tacos decided to override that pol
Read more