day TWO HUNDRED and NINETEEN

best quesadilla in new york

i’m looking for something

i’m looking for three dollar drafts

and someone to talk about the government with

i’m looking for protest

i’m looking for america underneath those white sheets

i’m trying to wrap my head around this insanity

and looking behind my back

in case a van or a car comes tearing down this crowded street

i’m looking at the republican party

and shaking my damned head

as the president jacks off nazis with barbaric glee

i’m looking at half the sun in the sky

drinking tepid water out of a nation half-empty

and devoid of reason or logic

i’m staring hate in the eye and breaking statues back into rock

i’m looking for artisan ice cream in flavors i never dreamed

and ice cold beer locally brewed

so that i can feel like i’m making a change

i’m eating something called a moza-repa in the blistering sun

as i walk down 6^th avenue thinking about endless war

and reparations and nuclear weapons and a sunset over the pacific ocean

i’m interested in doing some hardcore winning

i’m tired of coming out on the losing end all of the time

i’m looking for honesty and love and gender fluidity

craning my neck to hear the death rattle

of all of this toxic masculinity

i’m looking for something simple and real

like a sunflower reaching toward god

like a dark place to tuck into and hide

get myself out of this swampy heat

or like cruising down an avenue in a big, gas-guzzling car

black with tinted windows that’s almost a block long

bass playing the baddest motherfucking jam in the world

searching for the best quesadilla in new york

sizzling and gooey

washed down with a shot or two of tequila

underneath the ashes of american flags

with a cool breeze coming off the hudson river

as speed boats break waves in white crests

and the statue of liberty hangs out alone

in that blue horizon

just one moment this year

where she and the rest of us

aren’t always holding our breath.

--John Grochalski