evil eyes
she comes up
the subway steps
with two fleshy shoulders
and a thinly strapped dress
that’s cut just so at the knees
it shows some good thigh
when the stale air
makes it move
she comes up
the subway steps
with her blonde hair thrown back
into a ponytail
her beach tan radiating
wearing black heels that
enhance the curve
of her calves
i look
all the men look
all of us suffering the sun
we all watch the way she sways
toward the stop light
she is natural perfection
and she knows it
but i don’t think she wants any
of our lusty gazes
she comes up
the subway steps
clutching one of those eco-saving
grocery bags
her mouth turned down
beads of sweat on a face
that has no make-up running
and she has the most perfect set
of evil eyes
that i’ve ever seen
saying so much more
than the smallest word of protest
lingering as an echo
on this sweaty block
discussing art
i like watching
the rain fall down
washing out a summer day
the way the gray clouds
and abundant drops of water
keep a gallimaufry
of indistinguishable people
off of the street.
call me sentimental, i guess.
and i like you too
sitting there with that glass of bourbon
after breathless sex
discussing francis bacon
and what it means to make art.
i’ve never really wanted to do it
before, you know,
discuss art,
but there’s something about you
the way you look in the pale light
holding that sweating drink
that makes the topic seem all right.
or maybe i’m just caught in the afterglow
my mind floating
my heart made into mush
sitting like dough in my chest
waiting for you to levigate out the lumps.
i’m just a dog when i get like this
wagging my tail
i’d follow you anywhere.
and i think i’ve learned how to swoon
after twelve years in the mix
with you baby.
that is to say, i feel no trepidation
in my soul
when your eyes beckon me back
toward the bedroom
as the rain begins to fall harder
and all conversation
comes to a stop.
i’m just glad you keep bringing me
along for the ride.
we are all animals, all of us
some guys moves his head
to music and presses against me
on the train
the ugly beat of the song infesting my ears
while she takes up three seats
and won’t move for anyone
as these kids laugh
and put their hands in the doorway
so the doors will keep opening
and closing
so the conductor will keep yelling
over speakers so old
and the train won’t move
as the guy across from me watches
some woman’s ass swivel
and keeps saying, “goddamn, goddamn,”
until he has the whole train
looking at him and the woman’s ass.
but she’s trying to act like
the comments aren’t pointed at her.
i cannot read or think.
i look around me
at the dead flapping their gums
going over files and essays
slobbering on themselves while they sleep
talking trash, reading trash
or playing solitaire on their phones
everyone’s mouth full of yellow, sharp teeth,
and i think
we are animals, all of us
it would take so little just to get us
to tear at each other’s flesh and bone
maybe just a few dollars
or an argument over a television show
i think about this and i smile
then i elbow the next man
who gets on the train, welcoming him
to this hell
i get him right in the gut
he moans but he doesn’t even look at me
just presses up against the wall
as the doors finally close
and we all move on in the dark.
toward the end of the week
i mention how quick but long this week has been
while we sit on the couch having the first
of the five drinks we will have tonight
you tell me yes that it feels that way
then we sit in silence again as the wind
moves plastic bags and soda cans down
bay ridge parkway, and the cats fight
until i tell you that the radio is broken again
i can’t stop
looking
if i get on a train
and there are legs
and a short skirt
across from me
i can’t stop
because i might get
the blessed flash of the panty
or better
and when a woman bends over
to look for a book
or to fix her kid’s coat
tie shoes
and she is wearing low hung
jeans
with the thong
the top of the ass crack showing
i must stop whatever
it is i’m doing and watch
until she is done
i can’t stop
i’ve been looking down
women’s shirts since
i was twelve
i used to do ass walks
through parks to pass
the time
i sit through bad films
purely for the nude scenes
even now
with the flash of tit or ass
on the silver screen
i am like a thirteen-year-old boy
i can’t stop
we’ve been together almost
twelve years
but whenever my wife
comes out of the shower wet
red from the hot water on flesh
i have to put down my book
and stare
sometimes i follow her into
the bedroom
and nature takes
its course
i can’t stop
and if there are packs
of young girls
on the street
mean little whore teenage girls
with their tight pants
and cell phones
taunting boys
i take my place against
the wall
and wish to be abused
by them too
i watch them until they
are gone
i can’t stop
i don’t want to stop
i thank the gods every day
for women
such joy
such pleasure
such fantastic misery
all in one
i just can’t stop
i can’t quit any of you
until i’ve eaten you all up
in my mind
and licked the bones
of your souls
dry.
John Grochalski
