40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam! – Day 12 – “Dappled Spectacle”

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“Dappled Spectacle”

We lived on the second floor growing up.

The sounds of neighborhood proximity danced through the screens and curtain sheers on sunny shadowed mornings.

The aliveness of the day pulled us out of our sweaty summer beds, and coaxed us out, out.

At times, our apartment felt like the sun, and we would need to escape outside to a Bunker Hill breeze.

There was one box fan for the whole apartment.

It toiled, satisfactory, but disappointing.

A dip in the Clougherty Pool, could take the sting off.

Then we’d play endless evening rituals, while our mothers squatted on park benches and smoked butts.

The Slush Guy would come ringing his bell.

Small 50¢, medium 75¢, large $1.00.

Lemon, Watermelon, Banana, or a Rainbow.

We’d haunt our mothers until they fidged quarters and moist dollar bills that smelled of tobacco from their change purses and cigarette cases.

My mother always kept her potential cigarettes in the refrigerator. She’d say, “it keeps them freshah.”

Summer nights lasted through orange-blue skies, that got further into shadow, just as the games of hide and seek would start to get good.

Then we’d hear the call.

Time to go back to the heat rising second floor walk-up.

Sweat the night, and be up all the earlier the next day, to get out into life.

A very special thank you, to the neighborhood of North Mead St. a great place to grow up, and share with so many great people. I truly miss them all, and dance with their ghosts as they wind their way through my head.

40/40: Summer Poem Slam-a-bam is a project in which people have joined me for 40 days and 40 nights of on-demand poetry. They have submitted the concepts, ideas, and subjects; I’ve done the rest.

“The Devil Is In The Details”

“The Devil Is InThe Details”

Itchy red mosquito bites.

Long, unending summer nights.

Chirping birds, before sunrise.

Spiderwebs, stuck to your eyes.

Humid haze, choking ease.

Public pools, so full of pee.

Sitting out on the stoop.

Rolling boil, summer soup.

Ice cream melting down my palm.

Ginger kisses linger on.

“Seasoned Traveler”

http://www.thedebutanteball.com/deb-kims-favorite-summer-reads/solarcaine-spray-95g-147-p/

 

“Seasoned Traveler

Bon voyage!

Crashing waves wash away your permanence.

Chasing away the inequity of man.

A transplanted farmer’s tan, lingers a touch longer.

Tide us over until the New Moon.

Like squeezing water from a rock,

me like a hurricane.

Solarcaine pain.

Coppertone drain.

Summer’s last days.

Diminishing rays.

Wind picking up, in a serious tone.

Leaves leave trees on a leisurely breeze.

Fall down deep and crisp the soil.

Dog droppings play hide and seek among the yarmulke yellows, rosacea reds, greedy greens, and broken browns.

Air feels fumic on the lungs.

Naked trees reach up into the sky.

Clouds push down and leer at the hills for their obstinacy.

Plastic bags caught on power lines flip, flap, flippity-flappity. 

Solitary traveler whistling past the graveyard.

Traveling toward the final embrace.

Numbness, sweet airy buzz.

Apply the thing that makes it stop.

Reverent resonance required,

batteries are included.

Winter will come,

bitterly.