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 pastels
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
AFTER HOURS AT THE COCoNUT
there was an afterhours club named the coconut
or at least that’s what everyone called it
it leaned up against an abandoned building
you had to knock twice on the red door
not that they ever turned anyone away
unless you were eighty-sixed for cheating at cards
or shooting up in the bathroom or cursing out the owner
every time i went to the coconut someone sent me a drink
rum and coke, lots of lime, bacardi 151 if they had it
no one would tell me who my admirer was
I finally figured out that it was a guy named stretch
he looked a little like steven tyler or mick jagger
in a mean manly multi racial kind of way
he never talked to me, just sent me my drink
turned out i reminded him of his dead wife
a couple of people said i looked like her
he was raising their two daughters alone
there was always a girlfriend around to watch them
so he could sit at the bar and send me drinks
intriguing me with his romantic grief
his brave fatherhood, his big hands
it was easy to talk to his girlfriends
they were all over the lower east side
he beat them all, stalked them
till he found the next one
ella, the dancer, told me a story
stretch was on his way to the coconut one night
she said she’d like to go out too
he put on his jacket, fixed the hat he always wore
she said she’d like to go out too
it happened so quickly
she didn’t even know how she got to the floor
as his boot came down on her neck
she looked at his kids, watching quietly
she looked in their eyes
oh my god she thought, before she passed out
they’ve seen this all before
after ella finished talking i went to the coconut
told the bartender to send stretch a drink
stretch didn’t like a defiant woman
even one that reminded him of his wife
mother of his dead-eyed children
her image concealed in coconut mirrors
her voice singing to him from the jukebox
her hand on his shoulder when he played cards
when he left that night he looked straight at me
memorized me, then killed me in his head
his wife’s spirit exploded inside me, she screamed
go with him, you’re the one he’ll love
save my daughters, take care of my man
you’re the one, that’s what all his girls thought
a drink was set before me, some other guy sent it
i nodded thanks, drank it down, stretch was gone
roaming the streets, chasing the dreams of the next one
puma perl is a lower east side resident, harm reductionist, former narcotics
enthusiast. she worked in the field of HIV/AIDS for over 17 years and is
taking a break. doesn't know the future, will get back to you.
