For Erik and Courtney

I once called you the worst Buddhist ever

and I meant it
in the best possible way

it’s Thanksgiving
and I’m working

surrounded by weird Europeans Koreans the suicidal
Gary, Indiana’s finest drive-in accidents in Wal-Mart jeans

thinking of your limitless compassion

and being thankful for that

and Courtney’s limitless patience

which you should be thankful for

because there are not many girls

that would see a 6-ft-6 Danish Buddhist

w/ nothing on
but a dirty bathrobe
and a beer in hand

and stick around

but w/ Jesus in her heart
and a couple screwdrivers
she did

for 3 years

and then she married you

so this Thanksgiving

I say hallelujah for you Courtney

and hallelujah for you Erik

and hallelujah for you Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Todd
whatever your name is

you work in mysterious ways

© 2009 Lee Kitzis

Little Hells

Big-thighed Latinas riding by on bicycles
as the loud mariachi music blares out of beat-up tanks of cars
and it is Noble Square Mexican-town and it is a great thing
in the cool late spring night air of Chicago

I take a sip off my Evan Williams
and forget about my overdrawn bank account constipation
lack of love brain wired in a skull going straight to Jewish hell
waiting for my roommate to stumble home with his usual drunk
from his usual bar so I can borrow ten dollars from him

I can’t complain too much
I’ve got a low-paying but good job in a museum
for every little shit I see there’s a glorious smiling little tyke
whose parents actually give a damn
and who wants to see every dinosaur possible within that day
and there is no shortage of gorgeous black women
working the ticket booth with me

but still some of it’s hell
some of it needs to be hell
it keeps us on our toes

lest we become smiling Danish couples
happy with everything on the menu
or freckled moms in shirts with advertisements
and Umbro shorts with 700 kids
reading terrible romantic literature in a Panera Bread window

but not me
I’m halfway between
and that’s the best I can hope for
while my ice melts
and the whiskey tastes weak

Little hells
to keep us on our toes

I shouldn’t have that big-thighed Latina riding by on her bicycle

None of us should

© 2008 Lee Kitzis