day 36: i celebrated christmas in july

I am fairly certain Christmas in July is more fun than regular Christmas. Not only can it be celebrated poolside, but all the money you'd normally spend on gifts can be reallocated to buy booze.

Despite Saturday's incessant thunderstorms, Christmas in July at my friend L.'s house was a joyful occasion of tacky holiday vests featuring cats in scarves, snowmen in earmuffs and be-glittered poinsettias and trees, jingle bell necklaces, gold lame scrunchies and spiked fruit punch.
 
And best of all, you didn't have to worry about getting a little too smashed and cussing out great aunt so-and-so who always gets a little too pushy about when you're going to get married already. In fact, as long as you were sober enough to climb on a pool raft, you were pretty much golden.

box wine holiday
by Charles Bukowski*

she insists mistletoe
is poisonous
before snatching it from the corner 
of the tabletop umbrella
and cramming it in her cheek
like a wad of chewing tobacco.

i watch and drink my wine,
sunset blush from a box
i tore apart
to squeeze out 
the last bit of color.
the sun's set but
sweat still trickles down my chest
and there's a rock in my shoe.

"you'd like that," she says,
spitting the wad of green
atop a cigarette butt in the pool.
"you'd fucking like that,
wouldn't you?"

her teeth are wine-stained
her lips crusted with the red dregs
she sucked down several hours ago 
while sprawled on the concrete
her toes dipping in the water
bouncing across the surface like stones 
as she laughed toward the sky 
and told me she felt 
invincible.

i yank down the other sprig of mistletoe
and jam it in my mouth.
it is bitter on my tongue.

*not really. i wrote it. i probably enjoy imitating bukowski more than i should.