Blow
Slurpee down the street
past the gutter where pop-sickle sticks can not be boat-glued
are faded now too. . . port-bowed along no more imaginary sail boats now
paste a blue balloon to that
paper machee sky
stick his fat
blowing cheeks to the way we first came to. . . know
wind
then again
start over like that
then again
i do believe
even you’d come to believe, that
you could puff out your cheeks. . . that fat
and purse your lips for
a good gather-force
of wind. . . without a whistle. . . just to. . . inhale through a straw. . . a slurpee
blow
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