Short Story Collection from the Porch

Monarchs of the Undertow, Marc Pietrzykowski.

140 pages — $10

ISBN-13: 978-0-9978706-4-0
ISBN-10: 0997870648

Small town fabula, secrets and lies, petty thieves in the mall and shotguns balanced in the lap. The sun is a beast. Everyone knows everyone. No one knows why, they try to leave, but something keeps drawing them back. Short stories for the culturally oblique.

After I nailed a board over the window, I sat on the couch and stared at it. I know I should have stopped them, the little bastards, or at least tried. I should have stopped Cheryl dressing those poor dogs up like beauty pageant bimbos, too, but I didn’t. I should’ve told my Dad “no” when he got my draft card knocked down to II-C, but I didn’t. I should have stopped after two beers and skipped the Canadian Club, too, but I didn’t, and so what, we all get to where we’re going by different roads, nothing better or worse in mine. That’s the funny thing about karma, when idiots say “what goes around comes around,” they think they’ll see justice here, in this world, but karma is longer than time, we never see it. We pay it back all the time, it’s always coming around, sure, just no point in trying to figure out where it came from. I figure every life I lived was just like this one, never been a worm or a god or anything, just a sad, tired old man the moment I got born ‘til the moment I die, over and over, the same kind of life, every time. Let the kid figure it out himself. I can always get more windows. (“A Walk with the Minister’s Son”)


More new poetry from the Porch

So Much Noise. by Marc Pietrzykowski
79 pages – $10.00

ISBN13: 978-0997870619
ISBN-10: 0997870613

More poems about piffy, ferns, consultancy, Kentucky, crayons, and gristle. These poems are sneaky, carefully measured, narrative but layered, lyrical but possessive. Or possessed, but by someone nice and not at all demonic, except when the wind blows. Feathered, though not like 80s hair. Full of vim.

Where do we put them? In a genealogy? In a drawer?

I Can Hear Her Bones Growing, or Cracking

America always tries too hard, chewing
with her mouth open,
walking her huge, stupid dogs
right down the middle of the street,
letting them shit just anywhere.

Like a trumpet solo in C sharp
when C would do just as fine, thank you,
like the idea of soloing in the first place,
like Miles Fucking Davis, trying
way too hard, trying to be cool

while the veins in his neck and head
swole up like a garden hose
after the tap gets flipped and the water
flows. She tries too hard and then
says things like, “better to have tried too hard

than not tried at all,” as though she
was Caesar, prescribing the bounds
of logic with a sweep of the hand. Laughing
too loud, snorting, the guffaw
is an American invention. I can’t do much more

than say I love you, you big, goofy,
toothsome girl, and how strange it is
to feel older than one’s parent. I only hope
that yours are the pains of adolescence
and not the onset of early dementia.

Official Publication Date: Nov 19th, 2016


New Book of Poetry From the Porch, via the UK….

Working With the Negatives, Steven Storrie.

51 pages — $7.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9978706-2-6
ISBN-10: 0997870621

Steven Storrie writes unadorned poems with subtle angles and a light touch, even as he rails against the sociopolitical currents dragging at his feet. Working With the Negatives offers us poems that capture experience in a way that privileges that experience as much as the poem, that steer our attention back and forth between loss and desire.


Just one more week
And it’s payday
Just one more week
And it’s vacation time
Just one more week
And it’s Memorial Day
A three day weekend
Thank the Lord

Soon the weeks pile up
Like dead bodies
Blank faced and unaccounted for
The days like letters
Stuffed into a shoebox

What I wouldn’t give
Just once
To be