On the bicycle trail, a middle-aged
woman in spandex biking gear
had her bike flipped upside down.
I dismounted next to her.
“You need a hand?”
She kept her eyes fixed
on her bike wheel. “Why do I need
your help?” Her voice was filled
with contempt. “It’s only a flat.”
I didn’t respond.
Pedaling along the river,
I made the decision
to keep offering assistance.
Someday I’d need it.

-Ron Gavalik

Her kink was to watch
as I stroked one out in the car
in suburban parking lots.
One night, a guy in a ball cap
walked by. That poor man
was her unwitting accomplice
to ecstasy, but he just shook his head
as he strolled into the pharmacy.
I figured stroking was easier
at home on my own,
but that's the ****
we do to see
her smile.

-Ron Gavalik

I came up in Pittsburgh,
the Rust Belt of hard labor
with a deep love of community.
As children, we collected railroad spikes
from the tracks and we cut our shins
on random iron shards in **** hills.
Some of us were union middle-class
and others breathed the gray air of poverty.
That hardly mattered. As we stood atop
foothills that overlooked the city skyline,
soot embedded under our fingernails,
we lived as kings and queens
that oversaw the future.

-Ron Gavalik

Opening your soul to the public
is to swim naked in the sewer
with scores of salivating rats.
The poseurs spill their low-calorie
compliments. The haters,
they drop the most sincere insults.
Depressed, angry, mad,
I walked into the kitchen.
Standing barefoot on the cracked tiles,
Hemingway finally made sense.
A bottle of cheap whiskey
next to the coffee maker,
it had a mouthful left to go.
I figured it would see me through
and that's what it did.

-Ron Gavalik

When a drop of sweat
from your chin lands between
a lover's *******, some women
will recoil in disgust.
Others will moan and get off
on your labor to deliver pleasure.
The dame who digs a little sweat
during the younger years
will mop it from your forehead
in the nursing home.

-Ron Gavalik

Drunk on the orange light of dusk.
High on drink in a thick glass.
Cocooned in cigar smoke that hovers,
it carries the scent of a sweet menace.
The best part is knowing your ***** hang
out of sweaty boxers on the back stoop
while the neighbor lady stares
out the window, ashamed
of the visual **** of her orderly life.
At that moment, you realize, that's it baby.
The concert of life has reached its crescendo.
A spontaneous smile begins to form,
as you also begin to understand,
that's all you ever wanted
in the first place.

-Ron Gavalik

Over years of sin,
the memories, the faces,
they're obscured by a fog
of whiskey and regret.
But I never really hurt anyone.
I was far too busy
damaging myself.

-Ron Gavalik