we swing on a splintered porch bench,
humming amidst the sticky humid mist of July.
I try to sing a soft
“you are my sunshine”
but it comes out shrill.
so I just shut up and pucker up
for a pink plastic bendy straw.
I swallow your lemonade,
glowing yellow in a glass mason jar.
agh! oh, God! I think you forgot to add the sugar,
still gulping down the citrus swig of virgin summer. then
it hits me and I’m a goldfish:
stupefied and sour.
the juice smells like my father’s breath on vacation.
you like it that strong? oh God.
I’m gonna be sick. no, I’m not gonna be sick.
no, I Am gonna be Sick.
we’re gonna need to clean ourselves up.
Mia Valenzuela usually writes things at her home in Santa Ana. She attends Orange County School of the Arts in the Creative Writing conservatory and does musical thespian things on a stage sometimes. Her work has been published by Inkblot, Vagabond City, Nu Lit House, and tenderness, yea. Sun in Aquarius, Moon in Sagittarius, Taurus Rising. The internet knows her as @miagvalenz.