Untitled

On top of my air-conditioner
clacking away again
while frightened armies go to bed
and Irish girls I used to love
laugh at Spanish television
and drink screwdrivers
and they bury the writers
and they bury the chess players
and they especially bury the unburiable
and there’s nothing on T.V.
except Spanish sitcoms and news of the dead
and scrambled porn and wristwatches
and I look out the window and onto the freeway
at the light-up lottery sign
and there’s nothing on it
and they bury the dictators
and they bury the actors and the cyclists
and they especially bury us
alive
in our homes
at the dinner table
with the electricity of our past loves
and a glass of water

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

Kelly

In the morning
when we pop acetaminophen
and kiss
over the glass
of stolen cars
like crystal hail

and cockroaches
hump in the park

Puerto Rican gangbangers
light off fireworks
on the corner

and dream of a gentle God

and I stare
at your polka-dot underwear

and pale thighs

and am happy w/ Irish girls

because
they’ll steal three more cars
on Blackhawk Ave.

tomorrow night

and the cockroaches
will always find each other
through the concrete cracks

and we’ll grow tired of each other

and become dust
under condominiums

where couples will kiss

‘til the factories of Chicago
end up in the sea

Kelly
it’s just good
to split a bottle
of really crappy Canadian whiskey
w/ you

Saturday night

after the Buzzcocks show

in the scriptures
of some gentle God

on Greenview
and Blackhawk Ave.

© 2008 Lee Kitzis