Throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, Writing the Apocalypse was a weekly series featuring

the poems, essays, and recollections of NYC resident Puma Perl.

Then came the vaccine, and hope–and uncertainty.  And so, from time to time, Perl will return to continue

Writing the Apocalypse.

 

Punched in the Head | TEXT & PHOTOS (unless noted otherwise) BY PUMA PERL

When you’re walking down East Broadway

carrying a bright red tote containing four library books

and a small Trader Joe’s bag with a metal colander in it

and your phone, keys and wallet are safely tucked away

and you stop to look at a photograph of a neighborhood artist

you might get punched in the head by a guy about 5’7”

wearing wraparound shades and a multicolored hoodie.

 

Probably your own fault.

Your mother always said you read too many books.

 

When you’re walking down East Broadway

and you get punched in the head

an older man tells you to calm down it’s okay

that you got punched in the head and a younger guy

fiddles with his phone and says he didn’t see anything

and your own phone is so safely tucked away

that you can’t take a picture of the guy in the hoodie

who looks over his shoulder when you what the fuck at him

and rounds the corner onto Jefferson Street while

the older man makes sssssh gestures with both his hands.

 

Probably your own fault.

For being a woman who stops to look

at photographs and takes her eyes off the road.

 

After the guy punches you in the head

you tell yourself you should have chased him

you should have clocked him

you should have hit him with a book

you should have hit him with a colander

you should have carried mace

instead of a book and a colander

you should have been able to reach your phone.

 

Probably all your own fault.

Because you didn’t train like a ninja

because you’re not Princess Leia

because you didn’t hear him come up behind you

because you stood so close to too many amps

because you had crushes on bass players

who always wound up with other girls anyway

because you didn’t marry anyone

and now you lack the invisible protective shield

of somebody’s arm across your shoulders.

 

After you get punched in the head on East Broadway

you are convinced to file a police report

and the officer who takes the report is too nice

to be competent and has the same name

as your former dentist and a NY Mets pitcher

and the detective is the same age as your son.

 

And Victim Services calls and you hate the world “victim”

And the detective calls and says it’s a crime against the “elderly”

and assures you that you don’t look elderly

and you hate the world “elderly” and then it turns out it’s filed

as a misdemeanor, sort of like stealing a red lipstick from Rite Aid.

 

Probably your own fault.

You should have provoked him to hit you harder.

Then at least he’d be charged as a felon.

 

© puma perl, 10/23/21

 

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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