“Writing the Apocalypse” is a weekly series featuring the poems of Puma Perl, with subject matter influenced by her experiences as a NYC resident during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Diva Runs | By Puma Perl

——————————————————————————–

She runs

down the block

when she sees me

Juliet watches

from her doorway,

a safe six feet away

 

Even people

you once carried

in your body

cannot touch you

 

Hanging

from Diva’s pink leash

is a little white umbrella,

just in case of rain

Properly disinfected

 

Diva and I bypass

our usual shortcuts

The paths are too narrow

She hunts in vain

for food scraps

The streets have never

been so clean

 

All the dogs are anxious,

the birds are chirping,

and I haven’t seen a rat

in several weeks

The sky’s an incongruous 9/11 blue

 

We pass Delancey Wines

A Husky sits beside his owner,

patiently awaiting their turn

to pass a credit card

over the gate,

reminding me of long-gone

Avenue B nights

 

Diva hates Huskies

but doesn’t bother to bark

because in this age

of social distancing

what could she do anyway?

 

Around the benches

outside the locked library

a dozen men and women

cluster together,

drinking and smoking

They’re loud

and don’t give a shit

 

I’m reminded

of the scene in “The Road”

Human hunters

barreling down a path,

the Man and Boy

hiding in the woods

 

I want to grab Diva

and hide too,

but our enemies

are not homeless people

on East Broadway,

killing time

until the program opens,

chipping in for some wine,

probably doing

the best they can

Hard to shelter

when no place is home

 

We walk quickly back

I worry about the elevators

Are they in working order?

Will someone barge in

when the doors open

and cough in my face?

What if the doors stick?

Neither one of us can climb

the thirteen flights

to relative safety

 

Nobody is around

We ride upstairs uneventfully

The cleaning and disinfecting

take longer than our walk

 

Later, Juliet will arrive,

ring the bell,

and back up from the door

Six feet away,

the magic number

or is it random, presenting

an illusion of security?

Sometimes she brings supplies,

hangs a bag on a doorknob

 

Diva will run down the hall,

pink leash dragging behind her

When the elevator comes,

I’ll wave good-bye,

human and animal contact

gone for another day

 

Evening approaches,

in apocalyptic silence.

 

© puma perl, 04/16/2020

Puma Perl is a poet and writer, with five solo collections in print. The most recent is Birthdays Before and After (Beyond Baroque Books, 2019.) She is the producer/creator of Puma’s Pandemonium, which brings spoken word together with rock and roll, and she performs regularly with her band Puma Perl and Friends. She’s received three New York Press Association awards in recognition of her journalism, and is the recipient of the 2016 Acker Award in the category of writing. Her most recent books can be found by clicking here.

 

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