New poems by Puma Perl

 

that woman she falls in love

 

that woman
she falls in love
too easy
the big man
said as he
washed
his car
smiling
at the kid
sitting on a crate
watching
the kid
nodded
knowingly

i
want
to know too
who is she?
the woman
who falls
easy
in love
is her hair
red
does she
cook
every day
does she live
in the projects
where a
big man
washes
his car
and a kid
watches

 

 

sounds like last tuesday

 

a guy asked me where I lived
he said there’s no such street
hope I make it home ok

my kids’ fathers watched sesame street
they wanted to fuck Maria
educational tv sucks

my friends wear size 2
they order egg whites and blueberries
i sit my fat ass down and eat pancakes

i hung out with people for a week
home alone I shook them off like fleas
3 days later I haven’t recovered

strip malls sell spiritual enlightment
parking spaces are provided by God
matchbook cover says Become a Life Coach!

i decided to be a nun
take vows of silence and celibacy
sounds like what I did last tuesday

between us we had 7 kids 3 jobs 2 cars
42 rehabs, 3 prescriptions, and a diagnosis
I really thought it would work

another time i fell in love
i drove him home he stole my car
he brought it back he still calls

my friends believe in laws of attraction
thoughts control actions, secrets cure cancer
I tell them it will rain just to be mean

crystals chakras colors sigh
i’d be dead
if I wasn’t still alive

 

 

walking home

street merchants
drink beer
argue
“what’s the problem?”
“no problem…
i’m easy
easy as a sunday afternoon”
“sunday morning”
i automatically correct him
“sunday morning”
he agrees with a nod
“sunday morning”

tattoo purple bruised boy
staggers frantically
rapid eyes and words
he is my unborn child
the one without a chance

i love pathmark
musclebound men
in wheelchairs
buy vegetables
i want to sit on their laps
and eat oreos

stray methadonian
made the late pick-up
he balances 3 plastic bags
a daily news a beer
“how ya doin”
he rasps at me
we know our own

man walking bike
dreads to waist
begs for my phone number
i point vaguely to a window
tell him that’s my husband
he rides off

in the elevator
tiny asian boy
re-enacts the news
from Virginia
points at his head
“pow! that’s what he did”
his sister explains
“he loves that story”

i carry notebooks
write on envelopes
at traffic lights
lean on mailboxes
sit on strange stoops
pull words from the air
songs from the street
stories from my scarred mind
ideas touch my spirit
as they fall from the sky

 

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