Claudia Rodriguez

I write like a girl. Up at dawn morning breath fresh not clamming me up.   Head swallowed by bed spit me out, hair in a horn on the side of my head. A satellite towards the sky! Catching some vibes and recording my dreams not literally. Write like a girl desert sweaty sitting on a basketball glasses cloudy with steam head pounding to the sound of the dribbling around me as I’m pounding this poem out call me Ms. Smith. I’m a misfit, a magician fill you with illusions my fingers typing away fast as bee wings on my smart phone. I write like a Techy girl sign of the times write short and sweet sometimes in rhymes Ay, phone! how many times you saved my poem’s life. Grrr girl, I write like a girl invading males spaces with my stats and analysis my “what had happened was,” POV to the game carving my way into locker-room chatter taking a spot on the floor chop it up like a girl wearing purple

Heat makes you do things. Makes you stay out past sunset, pounding the basketball against steamy pavement trying to beat twilight’s defense. Makes little girl do the splits on barely-cooling-off cement. It gathers the homies to drink under a big shady tree building a pyramid of empties. It’s Sunday, doesn't matter if work awaits in the morning, gotta quench that thirst. The heat got the best of 'em, bro'.  Heat, it’s passion in your guts hot as an habanero bursting out into “Spiderman” layups, or dripping and dipping on warm iron bars, like the young dude doing pull-up after pull-up. Pull-ups give young dude Ironman chest. Sweat. Heat makes me sweat I’m feeling under your gaze “Chocolate Bar stomach” look away, Mamma hawk not hunting tonight. As you were! Dipping away, I’ll see you in my dreams wet, shinny, flexing pecks and biceps proudly like some urban Aztec god bobbing your head to the sound o