POETRY BY AMY GRECH

Amy Grech has sold over 100 stories to various anthologies and magazines including: 10 by 10 Flash Fiction Stories, Apex Magazine, Even in the Grave, Gamut Magazine, Microverses, Punk Noir Magazine, Roi Fainéant Press, Tales from the Canyons of the Damned, Yellow Mama, and many others. Alien Buddha Press published her poetry chapbook, A Shadow of Your Former Self.

She is an Active Member of the Horror Writers Association and lives in Forest Hills, Queens, New York. You can connect with her on Bluesky: @amygrech.bsky.social.

She can also be found HERE

LET THE CHIPS FALL WHERE THEY MAY

Inflation cripples the nation,
causing an incurable bout of
financial constipation.

Long gone is spontaneous jubilation.
Replaced by torturous
trials and tribulations.
You’re teetering on the
brink of starvation.

Prices surging. No more
spontaneous splurging.
Only non-stop purging
at your faltering bank
account’s dire urging.

Middle class my ass!
Status quo is a no-go.
Your meager existence
wracked with woe.

Plagued by self-doubt.
You’ve learned to
go without.

Creature comforts gone.
K-Cups so long.
You try to stay strong,
unsure where you went wrong.
AMEX declined.
Not a New York State
of mind.

Change in your pocket
weighing you down—it
has you wearing a perpetual
financial frown.

All you’re collecting is dust.
Plod on you must.
Vegas or bust.
As a full-time freelancer,
You sometimes wonder
if you might have
better luck employed as
a necromancer.

Let the chips fall where they may.
They’re all you have to eat today.

THE LAND THAT TIME FORGOT

You’re used to the hustle and bustle of the city.
You take convenience for granted.
Until everything becomes an
uphill climb. The farthest
thing from sublime.

You’ll take Manhattan
in a New York minute.
A bagel with lox.
Walk twenty blocks
without a second thought.
You never do anything for naught.

Take the subway anywhere.
Come and go without a care.
Have MetroCard, will
travel…until your life
begins to unravel.

When COVID-19 hit, you were
banished somewhere green,
way too serene. Definitely
not your scene.

Long Island is a suburban
no man’s land. One you
don’t quite understand. The
false security of a picket fence.
Such a poor defense. Caught off
guard, under false pretense.

This place is so strange; nothing
seems to change. In the land that time
forgot. Forever here you will not rot.
The suburbs are no larger than the
head of a pin. Leaving you no choice but
to look within. Determined not to let chagrin win.

You can walk to the drugstore,
Post Office, and Starbucks here. Other than that,
there’s nothing near. Uber is your
final recourse. You’re eager for a swift
divorce from this pedestrian life.

It’s a bone of contention. One
You often mention.

Stranded here, you feel
displaced, distraught. What has
society wrought?

You would not bend, so you did break.
Such a huge mistake.

So much unnecessary stress,
but you digress…

A means to an end. You
defend your extenuating
circumstances. You’re a firm
believer in second chances.
But the only thing you’re getting
here are sidelong glances.

Caught between the Devil
and the deep blue sea.
Not at all where you want
to be, wallowing in
abject misery.

Frozen in place.
Big disgrace.
No time to waste.
You’d better make haste.

Alone without a single, solitary
friend on whom you can depend.
It’s an untenable situation utterly
devoid of adulation.

Satisfied with status quo?
To that you screech, “Hell no!”

People out here can’t
comprehend why you won’t
follow the herd. It’s really
quite absurd.

Stranger in a strange land.
The natives don’t understand
your sophisticated City vibe.