Category: The Polish Hammer Poetry Corner

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: Praise Jesus and Pass the Lasagna by Karl Koweski

   Praise Jesus and Pass the Lasagna “Polish Hammer! How’s it going? Ain’t seen you in forever.” Ah, goddammit. This is the reason I try to stay out of the local Foodland. Being a carpet-bagging yankee since ’97, I know that if I’m called out in public, it’s by someone I currently or once worked …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: Liquor by Karl Koweski

Liquor We were four hours into the graveyard shift, chroming lengths of polished cylindrical steel which would eventually be assembled into hydraulics for garbage trucks. It was important work to somebody, since the company was willing to pay us double our normal rates to work sixteen hours from Saturday night well into Sunday. It was …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: No More Tours by Karl Koweski

No More Tours I first saw Ozzy in concert back in 1992 at the World Music Theatre in Tinley Park just outside Chicago. This was during the No More Tours tour in support of Ozzy’s “No More Tears” tour. Now, I was an Ozzy fanatic from way back, but I fucking hated his newer music. …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: This is What We Do to Book Snitches Where I Come From by Karl Koweski

This is What We Do to Book Snitches Where I Come From Life has been a blur, lately. Work becomes a weekly series of Bataan death marches. Sixty-six-hour work weeks, four twelve-hour shifts, a blessedly abbreviated ten-hour Friday shift and the obligatory straight eight, 5am to 1pm on Saturday. We’re told this won’t last forever. …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: A Sacrifice to the Gods of Industry by Karl Koweski

A Sacrifice to the Gods of Industry I did not help usher my son into this world so that he could give his life over to Hydra Hydraulics, slaving through twelve-hour shifts in stifling heat for shitheel managers. However, I didn’t intend to have him sit around the house playing video games all fucking day, …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: Living Ain’t For Everybody by Karl Koweski

Living Ain’t For Everybody I emerge from my study for two goddam minutes, just trying to grab a cherry limeade Frostie out of the kitchen when I hear a raspy voice pronounce ominously. “119.” I don’t have to ask what the number signifies; it’s all the old bastard has been talking about since the first …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: You Gonna Bark All Day Little Doggie, Or Are You Gonna Mourn The Passing of an American Legend by Karl Koweski

You Gonna Bark All Day Little Doggie, Or Are You Gonna Mourn The Passing of an American Legend I always take off work the week of the fourth of July. I never actually celebrate the holiday. I dislike the government, got too much cool shit to embrace anarchy, so my politics are complicated, but more …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: She Has Steve Buscemi Hair (And Eyes) by Karl Koweski

She Has Steve Buscemi Hair (And Eyes) I end the week with a little extra money in my pocket. Perhaps my son’s bills were not quite as harrowing as they had been in past months. I don’t know. It’s likely I forgot to pay something. Anyway, since I don’t believe in saving toward retirement and …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: For Fernando by Karl Koweski

     For Fernando One day Fernando is here, the next day he is gone, like a Middle Eastern restaurant in rural Alabama. We sing songs to honor the two days he spent with us, straining his guts out to lift forty pounds of metal off a rack.           Fernandooooo!           Gone but not forgotten           That lazy Guatemalan …

Continue reading

THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: Slave Labor by Karl Koweski

Slave Labor We’re into the second day of chrome shop training with Fernando, and I’m still not entirely sure he understands a fucking word I’m saying. I continue speaking what passes for English in Alabama accompanied by frenetic hand gestures, pantomime that becomes increasingly agitated with his every expression of surprise and disbelieving shake of …

Continue reading