Vox Populi
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Tony Gloeggler: This Kind of Room
It’s that kind of soft, not too hot, summer day
when all I want to do is be young enough
to run fast break full courts until night falls.
I don’t want to subway into the city, stop
in book stores, thumb through bins of used
vinyl for hours, stand in line at the Angelica
for one of those movies where I don’t care
if the main character lives or dies. I don’t
want to be back in love with Erica, driving
to some quaint upstate town, windows
down, in complete control of the tape deck
and we’re both singing along as loud
and as off key as we please: Springsteen,
Beach Boys, old live 1969 Poco. Don’t want
to linger over brunch, wander into tiny shops
filled with homey knickknacks and scented
candles, not even if we stop at a roadside park,
find a deserted shady spot, spread a blanket
and end up making out like we first met.
I want to be the first and only guy at the schoolyard,
feel the grooves of the ball with my fingertips,
hear it echo off the handball walls, the four
floors of empty brick classrooms, as I take
a few dribbles, make easy lay ups. I don’t want
to be in Maine, back in love with Helen
at the Wadleigh Valley county fair watching
Jesse stroke some bored cow, taking pictures
as he rides the long rainbow slide eight
straight autistic times no matter how ecstatic
he looks every time. Don’t care if he sleeps
through the night and we cuddle through
some video, walk to the bedroom for slow
mind blowing sex and an early morning
rewind. I want to stand at the foul line,
hit a few shots, watch the ball softly fall
through the not yet stolen net. No, not
a little kid on a back to Brooklyn Sunday,
my grandfather, my father, still alive, mom
complaining there’s nowhere to place
the lasagna pan and my favorite uncle, Dom,
with his crutches by his side, always saying
‘just as long as there’s this kind of room
in heaven, we’ll all be alright.’ I want to nod
knowingly, maybe slap palms, flick bounce
passes when the other guys start showing up,
talking shit, late night west coast box scores.
I definitely don’t want to be sitting inside
at my desk, clicking through emails, reading
about my old schoolyard friend Duden’s
kidney transplant and how it all went well,
he’s recovering nicely. Don’t want to think
about my own kidney condition especially
since it’s now official that the medication
didn’t work. I don’t want to spend a moment
making a list of who would contemplate donating
a kidney for me, who would get sick of visiting
me in the hospital first. Today, all I want to do
is shoot for sides. Duden’s my first pick. He grabs
a rebound, hits me with an outlet pass. I glide
down the sideline, cross over, take off and soar
to the hoop. Even if my shot somehow rims, spills
out, the Dude will tip it back in, fill the basket.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Tony Gloeggler. First published in Raleigh Review.
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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wonderful. so mournful, lovely, yearning, rich with life then and now. thank you tony and michael
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I agree, Abby!
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What a life this poem is and creates, a whole life, all framed by the loose game of old friends, basketball. This is masterful and what a way to portray a life and its hits and misses. Thank you Tony and Michael!
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Thank you, Mary!
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1969 Poco. There’s a lost gold mine memory, the canary present as a sole reminder of just how sweet such songs can be, especially when let loose from the depths of so much forgotten, like bats flying to the stars.
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Love early Poco
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This poem is a flat down marvel. Had not known your work, Mr. Gloeggler, but I’m emailing my indie bookstore right after posting this. Best thing I’ve read in a long time, though VP brims with good poetry!
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He shoots for sides. Not sure what that means. A shake and bake of a poem, that weaves down the court, silky after all Tony’s jukes, wants, and don’ts. The autobiography to reach that final layup or tip-in of his imagination, is marvelous and spellbinding.
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So well said Jim! “Shake and Bake!”
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‘Shoot for sides’ is how you make up the 2 teams. Usually you line up at the foul line and the first 2 guys that hit foul shots do odds/evens and take turns choosing teams.
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I’m so happy to enter this world, these words, incidence in account, that always seem to happen effortlessly/artfully. The written-ness of the Gloeggler poem disappears immediately and you’re on your way, one end to the other. There is something comforting always)Tonee is a comforter in this world, despite turbulences past and present (did he mention a failing kidney) and yet he brings you home, where everything belongs, as if that is what poetry is supposed to do.
it is isn’ it?
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Tony sounds like he’s just talking, but every word, every line is precisely and carefully measured.
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And I know a couple of folks who don’t usually appreciate poetry, who would love this one. Will copy VP’s entry of the poem to them. Thanks again.
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That’s how to rein in future readers of poetry: send them a poem that speaks to their interest or passions! I was successful in doing that a few times in over 6 decades of poetry blessings — and it always felt like such a joy to know another aficionado joined us!
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