Prose Poem: Puma Perl

Miss DiFalco

Miss DiFalco
(not yet thirty,
but spinsterish)
taught English to
seventh graders-
girls in black eye make-up
boys who wrote "fuck"
in their books…

Miss DiFalco,
principal’s daughter
a bear-like man
who scared everyone,
even the boys
drawing cocks
in library books,
even the girls
in ripped
black stockings...

Miss DiFalco,
perfume
light and flowery,
lavender, gardenia,
the girls smelled
of cigarettes,
tasted musky,
the boys greased
their hair

Miss DiFalco,
in her skirts too long,
her sensible shoes,
her crying eyes,
spoke clearly,
softly, in a refined
Brooklyn accent-
the students liked her
despite themselves.
they seemed to feel
the passionate woman
hiding behind her eyes.
on parent-teacher day,
six mothers wore pant suits,
three fathers squeezed
their bellies behind
student desk
the kids played
with their erasers,
tapped their feet-
everyone pretended
interest in verbs,
nouns, sentences.

after the lesson
Miss DiFalco
read a poem,
The Highwayman,
by Alfred Noyes
she had memorized it
"I'll come to thee by moonlight"
she recited, eyes burning
"look for me by moonlight"
she whispered, cheeks red
"Tlot-tlot in the frosty silence!
Tlot-tlot in the echoing night!"
she cried out!

the fathers leaned forward,
forgetting the desks
cutting into their guts,
the mothers narrowed their eyes,
the boys stared at her breasts,
the girls fixed their stockings-
finally, the highwayman
rode up to the old inn door;
whip in hand, he reached
for Bess, the landlord's daughter
the one with the long black hair-

Miss DiFalco
hissed those last lines,
closed her eyes,
clasped her hands,
willed her shaking body
to sit quietly again.
the class stood up
and applauded.
it was her finest moment.

#

A Ninth Grade Story

Monday morning:
Joey Carlucci turned Mr. Gatto's VW bug upside down.
His friend Butchie threw Mrs. Kimmelman’s desk out the window.
It landed on Mr. Camiel's 1962 two tone 4 door Dodge.
The cops found 82 unpaid parking tickets and red lace underwear under the seat.
Josephine Caruso passed a note to Richard Dorso.
It read in part, I love You. you can put it in Me today.
She signed my name with a lot of hearts and a postscript,
suggesting that he call me Huckleberry Pie.
Richard Dorso’s girlfriend Angela Palumbo came to my Spanish class.
Said she'd wait for me after school.
I told Joey Carlucci who liked me so he slapped her.
During lunch, he had a fight with Richard Dorso.
Angela and I smoked cigarettes and glared at each other,
twins in ripped black stockings and sneakers
She was 13, a year older than me cause I skipped 8th grade,
The cops arrived (again) before you could tell who won,
though Joey Carlucci was starting to look a little soft
around the eyes, like he was afraid of getting hurt.
Everyone who didn't run got JD cards and notes
asking their mothers to come up to school.
I rode the bus home alone except for Butchie,
who kept whispering "Huckleberry Pie" at me.
I knew I had to fight Josephine Caruso,
but all I wanted to do was to go home
Eat milk and cookies; the milk had turned sour
so I drank a cup of coffee and went back out,
looking for Josephine Caruso.

#

Naming the Wild Flowers
(original published in Journal of Heroin Love Songs, 6/08)

Ruth was long and blonde
She lived in the yellow house
up the road
She drove a pick-up
Painted houses, taught school
Baked pumpernickel
with secret ingredients
like mashed potatoes

She left the yellow house
to live with Allen on Bald Hill
His face was hidden
behind a bushy beard
Glasses and a hat
His head was usually down
He picked it up for Ruth
Turned out to be quite handsome

Wild flowers grew by the door
Ruth recited their names slowly,
like a child learning the alphabet
Fireweed Goldenrod
Spring Beauty
Starflower
Jack in the Pulpit
In a little girl's voice
She called out each name

Years later they came downtown
It was winter, she wore a pair of pants
around her neck, she had no scarf
After an hour, it was Allen's turn
She buried her face
in a stained cabled sweater
Her skin was as yellow as
the house up the road,
She spoke in a rasp, broken
teeth, cracked eyes
Burnt matches fell
from her pockets

They left hand in hand
Nicotine fingers entwined
She looked back at me once
The wind whipped her hair
Into her eyes, covered her face
She used to smell like lemons
I remembered her
Sitting on a country step
Could still hear her
In a child's voice
Naming the wild flowers

Who She Is and Who She Always Will Be by Puma Perl

(thank you, Lara)

she wears her past on her face
painstakingly applied,
the way girls prepare
for dances and proms

not that she had ever
been invited to either

she was the hot chick
that would actually
fuck you

her name
was not Angela,
it was RayAnn
or Anita or Lara

it doesn’t matter
how the years pass
her word is still good
and so is her pussy

her truth terrifies
the unprepared
she is always ready

there are no yearbook
pictures, no wedding
rings, though there
was marriage
once

she never changed
her surname
she knew
it wouldn’t last

cigarettes,
drugs, guns
and beer

gone

unmissed,
unwanted
unheard

decades flicker
behind blue
eyeliner
ebony mascara

hot chicks
never die
they watch
and wait

Dreams: Puma Pearl

mrs. god’s kitchen

mrs. god was tired of the kitchen
every day was the same
the red and yellow checked cloth
hung just so around the small round table
lenny bruce cracking tired jokes, eating
strawberry pie with whipped cream
janis singing endlessly to jim morrison
his eyes burning holes in the linoleum as
he sliced bananas into crescent moons,
sprinkled them over fruity frosted flakes

mrs. god was tired of staying home
her husband had all the good times
directing traffic, finding parking spaces
bailing junkies out of drug busts
granting wishes, fervent dreams
home runs, negative pregnancy tests
found keys, cell phone messages
good haircuts, matched socks
empty laundromats, exact change
answering the most popular prayers
bringing smiles and sighs to believers

mrs. god was tired of the weather
seventy- eight degrees and sunny
every single gosh darned night
she was tired of floating weightlessly
as she stirred pots and tossed dishes into
rainwater mixed with tide and bleach alternative
she was tired of disheveled rock stars
sarcastic comedians, revolutionary heroes
nancy spungeon’s voice, che guevara’s eyes
she hitched a ride one night with jerry garcia
they ate ice cream with the big dipper and the little one
even god couldn’t find her for awhile
he had to stay home and cook and entertain
nobody seemed to really notice he was gone

Two by Puma Perl

nino writes a poem

nino has beautiful lips
anya is his wife
a gorgeous blonde
born in finland
he gets shipments
from India
between deliveries
he hangs out in doorways
sits on the steps
figuring someone
will pass by
usually they do
anya passes the time
she goes to fish markets
makes pasteles
with nino’s mother
bites into mangos
nino complains about
the cost of mangos
anya laughs him off
she never mentions
the price of heroin
she loves him anyway

one hot august day
there was no air
to breathe
no money to make
nino sat in the doorway
it’s 99 degrees he said
it’s 99 degrees
streets are hot
feed off the
dead souls
who walk here
arms bleeding
searing red heat
he stood up
it’s 99 degrees
dope fiends
wear white
on burnt skin
tracks glare
beg for relief
it’s 99 degrees
the drug dealers
went swimming
beaches lie
in foreign lands
dope fiends
stare into
brick horizons
please god
it’s 99 degrees
it’s 99 degrees

nino memorized his poem
recited it all summer
in the bodega
on the cop line
dopesick
on the step
it’s 99 degrees
please god

in the fall
anya modeled
in japan
nino made deals
that ended in
a german prison
his new york friends
collected money
seven or eight dollars
nino remembered his poem
he wrote stories
mailed them home
when he had stamps
all his friends were animals
in a fairy tale forest
anya was a bluebird
nino was a tree

(Previously published, Brain Box Press, Volume 1, Issue 1)

#

Baby Brother

He was sitting on a curbstone as I walked by
Baby Sister he called out talk to me please
I leaned against a car that happened to be mine
His skinny black leather legs were folded
pointing here and there like knitting needles
tattoos of stars and demons sprinkled his arms
He spoke to me in Spanish I answered
That issue settled, we were free to return to English
I reminded him of Nancy Spungeon he said
but in a good way, and I was prettier and nicer
He didn’t understand his run of bad luck
He always got arrested for hitting people
His older sister wouldn’t take his phone calls
He wanted my advice, he knew I could help
How could he make up with his sister?
She’s his heart, the only one who still cared
I thought for a minute, posed a question
When you call her, do you ask for money?
Yeah, he said, I gotta go to Seattle and
she’s got money, she works, I’ll pay her back
If you want to make up with your sister
I said, call her and don’t ask for money
He thought for less than ten seconds
I can’t do that, I gotta go to Seattle
We said goodbye very nicely, it was
the day of the HOWL festival there
were lots of people and noise and music
He was still there when I got my car hours later
He was talking to a young guy in a suit
The guy was listening very seriously as I
got in my car, waved goodbye as I drove off
he glanced my way with no sign of recognition