LatinosUSA

From the Author

Why did I publish Potholes and Perogies? Oh boy, lots o’ reasons. It was my first book published through a small press (Alien Buddha Press) rather than throwing it on Amazon myself. I learned very quickly I know nothing of the process, so I was more than happy to have someone else do the work.

I also learned very quickly some small presses just slap it on Amazon as well and miss a few things, so you’re getting these mistakes and all. I’m ok with that. There is no mistake in the book so big that it will leave you scratching your head.

Sometimes in the submission process, I like to test the rules…so, so many rules to submitting one’s work. In the literary world, a full-length poetry collection is usually 50-80 pages. I have no idea why that is the way it is, but rules are merely a guideline, if you ask me. I had nothing to lose and said, “Fuck it, here’s a 203-page whopper for you!” They took it. It’s out there. Take in the fine aroma of more depressive, snarky, yet highly poignant poetry in this piece of work called Pothole and Perogies…and yes, I know to the purists it should be spelled Pierogis. I did say you’d get it, mistakes and all.

Sample Poems

Your best life

there is a tiny wheel of cheese
a single bite,
on the counter wrapped in wax
suitable only for a tiny mouse
and sometimes that’s all there is
I take two bites to make it last
the two bites float in my stomach
I would much prefer
a heaping plate of crab legs with
a bowl of butter and lemon wedges
but all the crab have been farmed
the cows’ udders chapped and dry
and sometimes that’s all there is
this tiny wheel of cheese
and like a tiny mouse
I am content for now

~~

Old claw-foot

I like the way the cigarette smoke
hangs in the air after a long exhale
even though I know
it’s going to kill us both
and I like the macramé owl
hanging on the wall
where it’s been for twenty years-
the one thing I’ll keep
I like the musty basement
with cobwebs in the storage space
and old wooden stairs
pitted from years of wear
even though I know
they might kill one of us
the forty-year-old stove
that has baked a thousand cakes
the old-style claw-foot bathtub
the rickety toilet
I like the old things
that have lived a good life

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