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I spent a summer
selling popsicles and ice cream
I was Dickee Dee
rode three wheels and rang a bell
pushed Creamsicles and Revellos and Space Jets
in the park
A butterfly fell soft against my chest
it never left it died
DOA above my heart
That summer I was all about Slanted and Enchanted
remember what it sounded like in 1992?
different than it does now, that’s for sure
unafraid, newer, lighter
like a butterfly
nobody thought about the 20th century then
there was no need
Dickee
Dee, Can’t you gimme some ice cream free?
I got no money
I like ice cream
Can’t you gimme some ice cream free?
Musafir
sleeping in the warehouse
made his bed between the refrigerators
Musafir
in the warehouse building a car
with wheels that couldn’t turn
anything to outlast the night
Never
eat ice cream in the dark, my little butterfly
Too cold—gonna die
Gonna die—butterfly
Dickee
Dee—these refrigerators are freaking me out
I can’t stand the humming
death humming the hours
and the wheels that could not turn
and the toy car he threw over a bridge
the very next day without looking down
don’t
look, don’t look
Girls
in shorts would turn their heads
Musafir
we called him Moose
bare-chested he stands to pump the pedals
the sun browns his skin
kid could do anything
we rode together
he was my friend
Later I found a t-shirt in the long grass
striped blue/grey/blue/grey/blue
I put it on and walked beneath the trees
when the cars came and took
all the little butterflies home to bed
I lay down
watched my shadow lengthen
over suburban playing fields
and the sky . . .
the sky goes blue to grey
A butterfly fell soft against my chest
butterfly blood bleeds grey to blue
bleeds on me
a breeze warm against my chest
I got a coolness along my arm
where my t-shirt ends
and my nakedness begins
Sounds like crickets humming by an empty highway
like electricity
like electricity
and maybe my mouth was humming
and maybe the world was humming
cold, it’s getting cold, kid
too cold I’m humming
Hey
doesn’t anyone here want popsicles?
You cheapos, you cheap lousy bastards
The
summer a butterfly landed on my chest,
that was the summer my father disappeared
23 minutes later, I was wearing my Vuarnet jersey
and holding M—tighter than I ever had
In the backseat of her parent’s car
in the last days before we went back to school
a new complexity filled me as my erection grew stronger
our sex was still a butterfly
but love was getting heavy
Summer sky goes blue to grey
good night M—so long
how did the light get so heavy?
I saw you 5 years later, in ’97
but Vancouver made me weak
and I didn’t think I could hold you then
So I ran
chickenshit,
just chickenshit . . .
M—
I don’t
know your phone number no more
but I can still feel you
somewhere
in this city
"As I Burn Off into the Distance" (Mr. Finley Quaye)
Shit . . .
turns out even time is a butterfly
These days nobody thinks about the 20th century
it’s too late, kid
still . . . still . . .
through the 31 days of August
the twilight of each and every day
belongs to all of this
the feeling
of all I want to do
is kill
just kill
these fucking butterflies
by Henry Mak
from: Melodramas, ©2002
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