Poetry of Puma Perl -

Puma Perl

Puma Perl has an impressive portfolio of poetry but for the purposes of this entry I'd like to share with you only three of her pieces as they're related to Coney Island.

Read more of her work here - and don't make the mistake of not picking up a copy of her recently published chapbook Belinda and Her Friends.  Puma's chapbook is described by David McLean as being "an exceptionally real depiction of life in a part of New York in the last millennium, where heroin or alcohol abuse is an integral part of life, where life is cold but full of a transient warmth, where hearts are larger than you might expect."

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming:

The Best Day of the Year

We hung out on the roof at Cha Cha’s
watching the Mermaid Parade.
“This is my favorite day of the year,”
said Danny, snapping pictures
with a camera recently lifted
from the trunk of a Buick.

They need Mambo Mermaids
I said, as Zombie Mermaids,
and Vampire Mermaids
sauntered by. He ignored me,
entranced by glittery pasties
and hundreds of tits.

I had met Danny at the Siren Festival
You can be my Coney Island Baby
was the first thing he told me,
while the New York Dolls played
We danced straight down Surf Avenue,
all the way to Seagate where he rented
a room from a bunch of rabbis.

We’d been together almost a year.
You don’t need calendars on the boardwalk,
time is measured by cyclone screams,
sideshows, and wooden horses,
by two shadows on the sand,
by memories of striped chairs,
and thunderbolt rides

We climbed down the stairs
Danny tried to steal an antique car
but nobody took him seriously
Coney Island kids paraded in wigs
left behind by drunken mermaids,
who now littered the street,
pasties lost, and breasts drooping

“This is the best day of the year,”
said Danny, as we drank warm beer
and headed towards the after- parties
We were never invited, but it was the best
day of the year, and we weren’t worried
about a thing

© puma perl, 4/13/09

Walking to Coney Island

I don’t remember why we decided to walk to Coney Island
I remember that it was November and that JFK was dead
and there were Beatle songs playing everywhere

Maybe we decided to walk to Coney Island
because our parents worked Saturdays
because the other girls were prettier
because we weren’t good at punchball
because she slept on a pull-out couch
because we read too many books
because my socks didn’t match

I don’t remember whose idea it was
I remember that we marched in step
I don’t remember how long it took

I remember seeing the Parachute Jump
and that nothing smelled of cotton candy
I remember a boarded up hotel
I remember that Nathan’s was empty
I don’t remember if we ate lunch
I remember the way Coney Island ignored us,
remote as a potential lover
who has changed his mind

I remember that I bought a postcard
I don’t remember what else we did
I remember that our disappointment
made us irritable with one another
and that we rode the F train in silence

I remember that our parents were waiting
I remember the slap across my face,
and dropping the Steeplechase card
that I had brought for my mother

I remember taking a bath
and wondering why Coney Island
was so mean in the winter,
and how long it would take
to walk there in the Spring

© puma perl, 4/12/09

Riding the Wonder Wheel

we’d wait for a swinging car
smoke a joint on the way up
make out like maniacs
when we reached the top
the ride would end and we’d
tumble out in weak-kneed
passion, light cigarettes
with shaking hands
and hot fingers,
lay across benches
on the boardwalk
rats racing by
old men jerking off
we didn’t care
our skin was melting

september came
and the rides closed
we cut school,
climbed up the fire escape
your mother was sleeping
on the plastic covered couch
we stayed in your room
for hours, it felt like days
but f*cking you in your bed
never even came close
to our Wonder Wheel kisses,
rocking in the clouds
as coney island roared
beneath our happy feet

© puma perl, 4/6/09