Benjamin S. Grossberg
Benjamin S. Grossberg lives in West Hartford, Connecticut, where he teaches, writes, tends apple trees, and eats too much chocolate. His latest book of poems is My Husband Would.
— From July 2020The Hairdresser
sees the old woman — wheelchair bound, pushed by her daughter — glance / out the window, and goes in back / to fetch a shower cap. The woman tugs her daughter’s shirt and says, almost / inaudibly, It’s raining. / And it is raining. Barely.
July 2020To The Gentleman Who Asked For $500 To Cap My Chimney
Rain was getting in. A lot of it. / And there was evidence of bats. / And when I asked you why it was / so damn expensive, you cited / careful measuring, a high- / quality cap, an exacting process.
September 2015The Magic Of Macy’s
I am nineteen, standing behind the Coach / counter at Macy’s Herald Square. / This feels like my first real job: I take / a bus to the city; I wear a suit; / I ask strangers if I can help them, / even though I actually can’t help them, / since I know so little about leather goods.
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