The Gorko Gazette

octoberfest

there wasn’t
much
goin on.
what was it,
saturday?
i wore
the same
clothes as
the day
before
but they fit
looser.
my wife
got food
poisoning
so i drove
to albertson’s
to pick up
pedialyte,
ramen,
and beer.
my car
needed
a smog
check
so i couldn’t
pay
the registration
renewal fee.
i’d put if
off for
another week.
nothing else
to do
but sip
some cold
octoberfests
and watch
the phillies
lose.
at least
beer was
a win.

---

the c-word

i have to
peel off
the label
of
every plastic
water bottle
before i
drink it.
and undress
fully nude
to take
a dump.
i have
to check
the windows
and doors
three times
before going
to bed.
and watch
over my
wife’s shoulder
while she
pours
my coffee
to ensure
it hits
the imaginary
line.
but it’s not
compulsion,
i tell
myself.
no it’s
not
compulsion.

---

moles

i am
at war
with moles
in my yard.
they are
voracious
little craftsmen.
some days
i wake up
to 10 new
dirt mounds
everywhere.
but
i never
see them
at work.
not even
on my
ring camera.
they are
elusive
little rodents.
one night
when we
first
moved in
one
skittered by
my feet
while i was
sitting
on the porch.
i squealed
like a
7-yr-old
girl
and my wife
mocked me.
that was
the only
time
i’ve ever
seen one.
i shovel
their dirt
back into
my garden.
but
the mounds
keep growing
in size
and number.
one time
there was
a mound
underneath
my front
window
as if
they were
trying
to break in.
maybe
that’s why
the last family
moved out.
i did find
mole repellent
in the garage
when we
got here.
but i don’t
have it
in my heart
to hurt
the little
fellows.
so i just
admire
my yard
full of
burrows.

---

sunday poem

a sad
little
sunday
poem
cloaked
in alone.
the sun
rains
on it.
why can’t
i feel
your warmth
it wonders.
everyone else
does.
a sad
little
sunday
poem
chasing
monday
so that
it doesn’t
have to
feel
so alone.

---

fall-ing

leaves drip
on my table
in the
cobblestone
courtyard.
one hits
my head.
i look up
at the
blue sky –
the color
of tears.
no amount
of beers
can erase
the yrs.
of solitude.
but i
drain them
anyway
one
by
one
by
one.

---

untitled poem

we tried
fervently
for her
to get
pregnant
but it
didn’t catch
like a
dead lighter
aching
to produce
a flame.
we tried
and tried
and tried
for 2 yrs.
but all
that spunk
must’ve
never reached
the egg.
there were
other
complications,
i know
but we
never tried
again
after those
2 yrs.
nor w/
each other.

---

dad-look

now
at 40
i get why
men dress
like dads.
b/c
with all
the aches
and pains
and injuries
you want
comfort.
fuck
fashion.

---

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Ken Kakareka has a collection of poems & stories forthcoming with Anxiety Press. He is a Best of the Net nominee. Ken’s words have appeared or are on their way in numerous rags including Stick Figure Poetry Quarterly, The Piker Press, and BarBar. A list of selected publications can be found at kenkakareka.com.

Image created on Magic Studio

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