A Promise to My Daughter in the Wake of a Trump Presidency

We trudge through the snow
me in my pea coat
you in your pink snow suit
two months too big

I show you the garden
the celery is dying
and I promise you it will begin anew

as for everything else
I do not know

You are just grasping the fall colors
of a country
which is beautiful
and ill and tired

I can only explain the leaves

nothing else
just the colors
that will begin anew

I’ve failed you

We’ve failed you

but I will be the hammer for you

I will be the tornado

like a fighter past his prime

until we take our last walk

and look at the celery
and look at the leaves

and we will have our silence
as loud as thunder
as we breathe the air
and continue on

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

New Book!

Sheeeeee's Heeeeeerrreee!

The new book of poetry from Lee Kitzis! That's me!

No more readin' poems on the computer for you! You're reading poems on paper! Like the professor of a fancy college! Or a college drop-out with a book! Whichever!

Coming Soon...

For Mingus the Cat

We were united in our mutual weirdness

co-conspirators
writing partners

If you were a person
you’d be an installation artist
who wore nothing but Hawaiian shirts
and drank Night Train
out of a bowler cap

You saw the street
You saw the good life

You cared nothing for either
and took it to your death rattle

I would’ve traded a city block for you

but that’s not how life works

so
I do the next best thing
and leave the door to the attic open
when I write

like Jews
leave the front door open
for Elijah

in the hopes that you’ll wander up
and perch your dirty asshole on the railing
like old times

and watch me chug black coffee

and write through dirty glasses

swearing at stanza after stanza

missing you

I know it’s weird
I know it makes no sense

but humans never do

like the street
like the good life

like an empty attic
and some silly lines

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

Everything Smells Like Breast Milk (A Poem on Fatherhood)

My wife’s kisses smell like breast milk

The baby’s head smells like breast milk

The plants smell like breast milk

The cats smell like breast milk

The mailman smells like breast milk

The sidewalk and the stoplights and the streets and the birds

The reverend and the rabbi and the bums and the stoners
and the fresh air at the beach

Titty milk
Titty milk
Titty milk

My receipt for creamer smells like breast milk

The cop writing a ticket smells like breast milk

The cage fighter smells like breast milk

My typewriter smells like breast milk

This poem smells like breast milk

Titty milk
Titty milk
Titty milk

12 AM
2 AM
5 AM

I’ll shout it from the top of a mountain

down below to the U.P.

Where the woman I love pumps away

and waits for me

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

Cecilia

You came into this world
screaming
with the back hair
of a 50-year-old Greek man

The greatest day of my life
punctuating the worst 4 days of my life

exhausted
in love
I held you to my chest
I kissed your head
you ate some of my chest hair

and that was it
I was hooked

I would console your screams

I would wipe your ass

I would chase away the boys
or the girls

I would find your lost scrunchy

I would buy you all the pretty things

withdrawing cash
and not charging it to the card

a technique daddy learned
to conceal his junk food and
lottery ticket purchases
from mommy

and we’d stick
that silly pretty thing
way down deep
in the daddy/daughter secret vault

and catch a Cubs game

and you’d have your favorite players

and mine would be dead or managers

and it will be ours

the whole thing

and nobody else’s

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

Since I've Moved to the UP

Since I’ve moved to the UP
my beard has gotten bigger

I’ve had an oven explode in my face
and I drink beer in the attic for next to no reason

I’ve calmed down
and learned to be friendly

When I walk I smell spruce and backyard barbecues

The meth-heads are less violent than the crackheads
but far weirder

There are no gangs because the bears control everything

The food culture is a vegan craving a steak
and the buildings are old and beautiful
and all the transients look like trappers
and the beer is good and a bum can live
like a king on cans and I’m in love
with the big red lighthouse and the fog horns
that carry me into slightly restless dreams

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

The Day an Oven Exploded in My Face or Sunday Funday

I was nearing the end of my shift
and just had to get the fluffed garlic potatoes
out as an accompaniment
to the whole roasted chicken

I took a look in the bottom oven
and before I could assess my potato situation
there was a BANG! that crumpled me
hat and glasses flying singed hair
blood gushing from my head

I thought of my wife and my unborn kid
and what’s that burning smell oh it’s me
that’s not good lemmee just go ahead
and feel the top of my head oh fuck me
no bueno it’s hospital time
don’t let this be my obit
barely published poet dies
after oven explodes in his face

but it wasn’t my time
and the doctor was nice and quick with the stitches
and flirted with me a little and my wife
held back the tears and then calmed down and said
“maybe now I can beat you at Scrabble”

and I know what matters now
I know

I love my wife
and I love my kid

and those potatoes
those potatoes

those potatoes needed 3 more minutes

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

Poem for a Songbird I Knew for a Few Hours

We found you
outside the public library
busted wing and all
afraid
a big black dog
in an SUV
staring at you
licking its chops

My wife
her heart as huge
as the Upper Peninsula
cupped you in her hands
and we took you home
and spoke to you
and gave you a cage
and a clean towel
and a water dish
and seed

and my wife
could not name you
it would just hurt
too much
so I did

Kingston
and it hurt to do it
but I did

and I talked
into your inquisitive black eyes
I told you that I loved you
and would be right back
and we would talk some more

and then I left
and went to a birthing class
and watched videos
of the bloody sloppy
miracle of life
and we grimaced
my wife and I
and we talked
about babies
and we talked
about birds

I would put you
in the attic
and we would sit in silence
and watch the big black dogs
pass us by

Me with my Old Crow
and you with your seed

but that would never happen

I guess it wasn’t supposed to

Kingston
I’d like to think
you were happy
not getting stepped on
or eaten by a hawk

Just curling up next to a water dish
and letting go

Many people don’t let go

They mean nothing to me

but you

you meant it all

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

A Horse Named Jenny

Oh wow
Look at that
you said

and I turned around
and there was an old lady
counting her change at
the counter
basset puppies
and paw prints
stitched all over
the back of her jacket

Birthday present idea
I said

you laughed

I’m not kidding
I said

I’ll wear the fuck out of that

we sat
for a couple minutes
eating our sugar cookie
covered in confetti sprinkles
and a graphic amount of frosting

28 cents, 29 cents, 30…
the old lady went

I don’t ever want you to die
you said

Sweetie, you’re stuck with me

you stuck your finger
into the cookie crumbs
and held it

Good you said

The old lady walked
out the door

bread in hand
her daughter waiting
in a station wagon

their front plate
was a personalized portrait
of a horse named Jenny

you told me you didn’t wanna end up
like that lady

memories of me
and a basset hound jacket

the car started

she took a Viking pull
off her fresh loaf
and left a giant piece of bread
hanging out of her mouth

she held it there
and looked straight at us

we laughed

the car drove off

Okay
maybe I wanna be a little like her
you said

I thought as much
I said

I finished my weak coffee

You bused your clean plate

and we left the bakery

and walked to the lake

as if the whole thing
had never happened

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

The Unpronounceable God

We look out
over the calm expanse
of Lake Superior
by the old light house
bleeding red

imagining
what the Native Americans
must have imagined
about
some crazy water god
with 10 syllables in his name
breaking the tide
with 300-year-old breath

our daughter
in your belly
using your bladder
as a beanbag

and the silence is fine

and you are beautiful

with your one gray hair
we both know you have
but don’t mention
and you hate
and I love

and we wait
for that unpronounceable god
to break the tide

and when he does
you turn to me
look into my eyes
smile and say

“I bet bear farts smell awful.”

“Absolutely,” I say

and we hold hands and
walk home

past the old houses

and the big breed dogs

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

Marquette Housing Commission Poem #1

Those gone made
for lack of love
and medication

their television sets are
5th story windows
endless blizzards
and the chatter of birds
too proud to fly south

The half-drunk ghosts
of Finnish miners
pushing their carts of bottles
into the frozen waters
that connect with the night
and disappear

I imagine this is death

and I am fine with it

the way a cat is fine
splayed out in the sun

waiting on nothing in particular

© 2016 Lee Kitzis

Valentine's Day Message to My Daughter on the Way

I

Savoring the last of my late nights
watching Kitchen Nightmares and
drinking Old Crow at 2:30 in the morning
which was less of a savoring
and more of an affirmation
that I wasn’t giving up much

I’m excited for you

you culmination
of mutual strangeness
and love

the nonsense songs we sing to our cats

are now nonsense songs we sing to you

please don’t lick yourself
and walk away

II

I want you
to have the life
my parents gave me

minus the sour stomach
and constant self-analysis

I want you to cook
and name the squirrels you see
Dottie and Action Jackson
and Doctor Acornsworth
and light a flame
in the Presque Isle snow
that burns the way it should

different

and you will

III

It’s 4pm

the huskies
are bedding down to nap
after a hard
two-day race

I’m about to make your mother
fried chicken for Valentine’s Day

she requested it

you requested it

the secret
is to let it soak
in over-seasoned buttermilk
for at least 3 days

and to never ever
season the dredge

that way you get the crunch
followed by all the flavor
contained within the chicken

people will tell you
to season the dredge

but that’s overkill

don’t ever listen to them

and don’t talk to strangers

and don’t date line cooks

and when the avocado’s ready

eat it

© 2016 Lee Kitzis