Peter Relic
The Humidity
Everyone’s hair’s in curlers, states the Polish
professor with the black belt in borscht.
Correction: chlodnik. Eyes azure as cabbage,
manicure like mangelwurzel, cooler than dill.
Wioleta is a pretty name when Wioleta says it.
In my mouth it sounds rude as a feral horse.
A feral horse runs like glue down Battey Street.
Swamp me before I claim it’s not the heat.
Wioleta says let’s give the dry cleaner the finger,
let’s split the velvet curtain of July where
Mercutio is hiding, nibbling a Stroopwafel
and workshopping the wobbly bit about
“Her whip of cricket’s bone; the lash of film”
which is good ish, but who’s going to
empty the dehumidifier as the living room
is subsumed in rip curls of bramble Fanta.
Remember the day at Bull Sluice Lake when we
dropped the giant watermelon and it exploded
into a million puzzles. No curtains were drawn.
No sweat but pit stains. No half doses.
I’d never met Wioleta then, or heard her cry
like an owl. Crazy birds attract each other, she
says, accent heavy as summer’s blanket.
Don’t lock up what you hope to see fly.
professor with the black belt in borscht.
Correction: chlodnik. Eyes azure as cabbage,
manicure like mangelwurzel, cooler than dill.
Wioleta is a pretty name when Wioleta says it.
In my mouth it sounds rude as a feral horse.
A feral horse runs like glue down Battey Street.
Swamp me before I claim it’s not the heat.
Wioleta says let’s give the dry cleaner the finger,
let’s split the velvet curtain of July where
Mercutio is hiding, nibbling a Stroopwafel
and workshopping the wobbly bit about
“Her whip of cricket’s bone; the lash of film”
which is good ish, but who’s going to
empty the dehumidifier as the living room
is subsumed in rip curls of bramble Fanta.
Remember the day at Bull Sluice Lake when we
dropped the giant watermelon and it exploded
into a million puzzles. No curtains were drawn.
No sweat but pit stains. No half doses.
I’d never met Wioleta then, or heard her cry
like an owl. Crazy birds attract each other, she
says, accent heavy as summer’s blanket.
Don’t lock up what you hope to see fly.
Biography
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Peter Relic is a writer, photographer, and collage artist inspired by the Georgia Barrier Islands. His writing has appeared in Rolling Stone, VIBE, MOJO, and in Da Capo Best American Music Writing. He lives in Savannah, Georgia. Find him on Twitter: @peterrelic
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