John Greiner


She was your everyday
shallow pool swimmer
who was always talking
about how dead the moon's
eyes were. I never took
walks with her at night,
not even on the summer ones
that got the sweat off
of your back. I imagine
she looked lovely in
her stormy thoughts in
those hours where she had no
business being. She
was always looking up,
hoping to see her cosmonaut
out there in some constellation
floating. He was your
everyday tin bucket hero
of the space age that was
all the rage in those days
before the Iron Curtain
came down. Nowadays
she waits out by the train tracks
for the circus to come back
to town with its burnt bronze,
glass eyed acrobats
who had spent too much
time staring at the sun.

After Better Looking Days

Crawling down the low street.
It's dead out here today
and I'm no different than the rest.
I'm seeing what they're seeing
and they're seeing me
and none of us are too impressed.
We were better looking
in the days of our crutches.
That's what's been said.
I'm saying what they're saying
and it's just a tired shtick
though we still keep falling for it.
There's some other soul
on some other alley or avenue
that has something to say,
I know it, but I'm not going
                               to tell them that.
They've got their own conceits.

John Greiner is a Pushcart Prize nominated writer living in Queens,NY. He was educated at the New School for Social Research. Greiner's work has appeared in Sand Journal, Empty Mirror, Sensitive Skin, Unarmed, Street Value and numerous other magazines. His chapbooks of poetry include Turnstile Burlesque (Crisis Chronicles Press) and Bodega Roses (Good Cop/Bad Cop Press). His collaborative work with photographer Carrie Crow has appeared at the Tate Liverpool, the Queens Museum and in galleries in New York, Los Angeles, Venice, Paris,Berlin and Hamburg.
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