For George Floyd

They knelt on the fruit
until it bled a nightmarish jazz
into the concrete
like Ornette Coleman’s dying cat
then used the pulp
to line the stripes and the juice
to spray the stars and wrapped
the poor in it ‘til they couldn’t breathe
suffocating at half mast
cocooned in medicine they could not afford
skewered by the needles they would never see
and told those watching it was the Mexicans
and told them it was the blacks
and told them it was the Chinese
and told them it was the whites
just some of them the ones that paint
and have Pintrest accounts and
smoke better weed and when
they couldn’t see them
they believed them
and then they wrapped that flag tight
even tighter this time
while the invisible screamed
“I can’t breathe!” inside
and w/ the strength of a million
cleanly pleated god fearing knees
they knelt on the fruit again

© 2020 Lee Kitzis

The Sickies

I tell you
we can’t go to the museum
cus everyone has “the sickies”

so we pile
in the car
and head to the beach
to collect rocks
intrepid archeologists
in 30 degree weather

You load my pockets
and yell at me
when I skip a few of our finds
into Lake Superior
and pretend you’re an airplane
while your mother smiles
at the crashing waves
and daydreams of Obama
and going out for boulevardiers
and charcuterie plates

on the ride home
I hold in my pee
(the bathrooms at the beach were closed cus of the sickies)
we listen to the Frozen soundtrack
and discuss dinner
maybe tacos maybe chicken tenders maybe both
as we ride past the houses lined with rainbows
out of the end
and into the beginning

© 2020 Lee Kitzis

As I Carry My Kid to Bed and Think of Dead Friends

I used to pick you up
and carry you to bed

Now I hoist you
your long toddler legs
dragging across the sheets
your curls in my face
they smell like a daughter's head
dirt and imagination
the opposite of the world we live in

The bad old days
the salad days are gone
my friends are dying
drinking scotch
listening to the Pogues
in a soccer hooligan bar
beyond thought and matter

I social distance
from the moon I used to howl at
stop at one glass of wine
and switch to tea

what a fucking dad I've become

I will not leave it like this for you
Cecilia

We will have the president
that unites this country
gay, compassionate, shoots missiles
from his eyes, is also a she,
plays third base w/ a good slash line,
hits for power, a communist in a
Gucci belt w/ the head of Merle Haggard,
knows 12 languages, fluent in
America, the art of love, diplomacy,
and Star Trek bar trivia

I lay you in your bed
cover you with your Paw Patrol stuffies:
Chase, Skye, Carl, Slippery Jean,
green helmet guy, something something

What a fucking dad I've become

Goodnight, Cecilia

Dream those dreams
of dirt and imagination

and goodnight, Cal

who's now the dream

drunk on Laphroaig

as well dressed as they come

© 2020 Lee Kitzis