Vox Populi
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Tony Gloeggler: A Good Bad Day
John walks slowly up the stairs
to my office every day. Between
four and four-thirty, after the bus
brings him home from day program
and after he uses the bathroom,
he says, “Oh, hello, Tony,” as if
he’s surprised to find me
sitting at my desk. He says
he had a good day, stands
by a chair, and after six years
of living at the residence,
his home, he still hesitates,
wonders if he needs permission
to sit down. I don’t give it,
wait until he sits on his own.
He tells me if he read or painted,
exercised or sang today and I ask
questions as if I was his mother.
Maybe he went to a park, a store,
the library. All along he wears
this pleasant, half smiling,
perfectly balanced, zen-like gaze
across his Fred Flintstone face
and I don’t know if I’m stressed
or bored, mean, or just a smart-ass
acting like we are friends;
but when he asks me about my day
sometimes I tell him the truth.
Uselessly endless meetings, piles
of paper work, asshole administrators.
Not enough sleep. Girl friend trouble.
Yesterday, I told him that a woman
I loved is getting married on a boat
in September and I wished
I owned a torpedo. He didn’t say
anything, just sat there smiling
and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it
I had to ask him if he ever
had a bad day. When he said no,
none that he could remember,
I said are you sure. He said
I don’t think so and looked like
he was thinking hard. I leaned
forward, said that I felt very sad
when my father died and I wondered
how he felt when his mom and dad
passed away. John jutted out his chin,
looked beyond me and said yeah
that was a bad day. When I asked
if he missed them, he chewed
on his lips, said sometimes,
and I said I know what you mean.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Tony Gloeggler. First published in Rattle.
Tony Gloeggler’s books include What Kind of Man (NYQ Books, 2020). He is a life-long resident of New York City.
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I’ve long admired Tony’s poems, love how he conveys the ordinariness of his exchanges with Jesse, or in this case with John, giving us a glimpse into the lives of people we might never otherwise meet. Thank you for this one.
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There is a profound simplicity to Tony’s poems which I love.
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This poem is enchanting. I always love when I want more even though more is completely unnecessary.
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I know exactly what you mean, Julie. Thank you.
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Tony Gloeggler can’t go wrong as far as I am concerned. It’s such a pleasure to red Tony’s well-crafted work, sharing his inner world, love the way his mind works, love the way his words roll.
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I second Rosemary here!
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I agree completely!
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I love the way your words roll, too, Rosemary. You and Tony brighten bad days…
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Yes, completely agree. Tony’s work is wonderful.
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It really is.
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Tony’s poems turn me to thoughts of my grandson with William’s syndrome, now in junior high, who smiles and gives me a big hug when I arrive before he kisses my dog.
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Sweet!
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Sometimes telling the truth becomes a dialogue between anxiety and the Spectrum. Those two actors in this poem work together to accomplish the task of trust-building. A dialogue emerges, perhaps one that can find a way forward. The reader can hope both will move closer through their ongoing meetups, and thereby engage the reader. Trust and serenity may come from chaos.
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Trust and serenity. Yes.
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A Tony poem is always sure-fire to take you to its inner place and I am always grateful to go. Its been too long since I…is what I’d say to him, taking his hand, face to face. This is one more of the pleasures of living in this neighborhood of poetry. Someone might ask, aren’t you just a visitor- you’re only here a few minutes each day?
No, this is where I’ve taken up residence. I don’t see him often, but I’m a few doors down from Tony.
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It’s nice to have you as a neighborhood, Sean.
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