Read the featured Pink Plastic Poet of the week LESLIE CAIRNS below and the rest of the Pink Plastic Poets in the archive.


by Leslie Cairns

Rolling my stockings near the water-drenched grass, while the fireworks blister. I told my parents we’d sleep out here, she says.
Licks my ear, and grins. We turn on the unyielding faucet.
We’re outdoors,  but there is water to gurgle
from. We drink & cool
& down our throats.
Hers elongated and giving, mine too rough and too blushing.

She likes me anyway, I think.
We try on all the different settings: spray, angel mist, delayed,

The next night, when she asks me out for salty
popcorn, and another time to watch the rainbows form from the
vapid spray, while the lumineers play, underneath the mistletoe
of the constellations of summertime night–

I recite the different ways the water weeping willows its way to
like a mantra, or a kiss:

Angel mist, spray, delayed start–




The way she said nozzle until we snorted, our nostrils flaring, offbeat,  like ponies about to storm the beach,

Colliding towards the sand,