Featured Poet: Puma Perl

eating ice cream in august

it was a fuck you dirty socks kind of rain
left everything feeling damp, unwashed
no dewy smells like long island rain
no summer storms sprinkling flowers with names

without a tulip I sat on a strung out bench
in front of the methadone program
eating an ice cream cone from a dingdong truck

usually, my posture and game face prevent
the random ninety milligram remarks
like “does that taste good?” “que lengua”
“can i get a lick of that ?”

but brown liquid clouds have covered the city
there is no etiquette on this syringe of a street
i struggle to conduct myself with dignity
to regain my withering looks, my miss lady sneer

i can still strut down an avenue
chocolate in the corner of my lip
sprinkles clinging to my right breast

(originally published by Gloom Cupboard under title a "fuck you kind of rain".)

©2008 Puma Perl