arriving at work
to the homeless man who smells like urine
he sits on the stoop
like a sickly shroud
smelling faintly of urine
he’s huddled in black
black suitcase
black duffle bag at his side
his face ghostly and pale
his lips white with kidney failure
sometimes there is a beer bottle or two at his side
he sits there shivering
as people walk by going to work
with huge coffees and bagel sandwiches
and little rolly bags trailing them like dogs
in less than twenty minutes
i will let him inside
where he will find a chair and read or sleep
until he pisses himself anew
the good people complain
and i have to ask him to leave
arriving at work
to the homeless man who smells like urine
sometimes i think about
how glad i am that i’m not him
but sometimes i think about
how the only real choices in america
are to work like a dog until you’re half-dead
or to end up smelling like piss in the street
how everyone in this shithole nation
is just a few bad mondays
from being just like this guy
a few bad breaks
and america will throw you away
like trash
then i go inside
and i sit at my desk in the dark
with my head buried in my hands
and i wait for something better
that will never come. 
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, in the part that voted for Trump, so may God have mercy
on his soul.
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