Kew & Willow Books
Friday March 20
Sending out announcements
for a couple of upcoming readings,
I remember when I featured
more regularly and I felt like
a dad selling raffles at work
for his kid’s basketball team
or boxes of Girl Scout Cookies,
counting on a combination
of obligation, guilt and pure
selfless favor to fill the seats
because nobody in my real life
gave a crap about poetry
and I knew if I didn’t write it,
I wouldn’t either. I often wondered
how annoyed or bored they’d be
if/when they showed up, hoping
they could at least look at it
as a night out. They probably
felt the way I did attending
my sister’s dance recital
at the RKO Keiths’, June
of every year, that old fashioned,
fancy-assed cavern of a movie
theater in downtown Flushing
with the ornate architecture, oil
paintings hanging in the lobby.
No, popcorn, Pepsi didn’t help.
The older Donna got, the longer
it took before her class made
their way across the stage. Mom
and dad would squirm, scooch up
in their seats, get excited and point
her out. Three times a show: tap,
ballet and the way cool acrobatics,
finally working her way to an added
4th appearance, a spotlight solo. Once
at a holiday dinner, I complained
about her constantly posing in front
of mirrors, doing flips and cartwheels,
pirouettes and headstands, craving
for attention while we were trying
to watch TV. It was such a big deal,
getting dressed up, dad or grandpa
handing her a bouquet of roses, endless
smiles and photos. She got mad, brought
up all the baseball, basketball games,
of mine daddy watched, the years
he coached, how dinner was moved up,
I apologized, but thought, he actually
liked sports. Besides it gave him new
and exciting places to yell at me. Laughing,
she talked about the time he made me cry
on the mound at Colden Field. I nodded,
said remember Grandpa, the crowded
lobby on the way out one year, how
he stepped into the fountain, splashed
down to his knees, yelling his famous
Son Of A B, everybody turning,
and looking, mom helping him stand,
then folding over, unable to stop
laughing. Yes, that was the best.
This Friday, March 20 at 6:00 PM,
I’m reading at Kew & Willow Books.
Admission’s free and there’s an open,
bring poems if you got ‘em. Click link
at the bottom for the address. PS:
I got a new book. Bring money too.
*
Tony Gloeggler is a life-long resident of NYC who managed group homes for the mentally challenged for over 40 years. Poems have appeared in Rattle, New Ohio Review, Vox Populi, The Raleigh Review, Chiron Review. His collection, What Kind Of Man with NYQ Books, was a finalist for the 2021 Paterson Poetry Prize and his new book Here On Earth came out 1/26 on NYQ Books.
