You Can't Win

No romance

No Italian poets screaming

Or slow sonatas for broken bones

When you see it

You'll know

It's the alley cat

And sympathy for the asshole

And it's lonesome for you right now

© 2009 Lee Kitzis

Waiting for Dinner

My old friend beans today
some Italian brand
my dad gave me

I flip between Cops and
King of the Hill
choke down a Steel Reserve

they’re building condos
down the street

“Vision Condominiums” that is

someone threw up next to them

probably one of the sex offenders
from the halfway house next door

Winter just won’t give in to Spring

and the rapists have a sense of humor

The Midwest

has its moments

© 2009 Lee Kitzis

Poem Written After Smoking a Strong Italian Cigar Too Fast

i took a rocket to the moon
and ended up in gary, indiana

while the homicides homicided

and the poets poeted

bill kurtis read bedtime stories to the president

while jesus snuck out the backdoor

hauled ass to canada
to get his ulcer checked out

i took a rocket to the moon
and ended up tossing ice into a denny’s urinal
at 2:03 a.m.
thankful for work

i took a rocket to the moon

and ended up on the moon

and it was nice

there were no poets

or homicides

just jesus

hiding behind a rock

“that guy scares the shit out of me” he said

“plus it’s a little cold”

i agreed

then the earth blew up
in the name of god

and i poeted this poem about it

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

Poetry and Poker

While smokestacks fart in Hammond, Indiana

a gambler gets busted on the nut flush

Looking at my typewriter
with dust-bunnies in its crevices
a busted M key
a missing =+ key
she’s been good to me

so I try anyway

it’ll get me more broke than laid

He buys in for another hand

be good to me he begs

while the old black men in fedoras
the Chinese ATMs
the old Jewish pros
the Italian contractors

people from all over the map

wait for their table

The good ones know

you gotta wait for it

The bad ones
force it

and get something like this

© 2008 Lee Kitzis

How to Live on 20 Dollars a Week

I’ve stopped keeping track of my finances

I’ll know I’m fucked if I get a letter from the gas company

They’ve cut back on my work hours

and I’m 90% sure my bank account’s overdrawn

so I’ve been doing nothing but eating bread and beans
and watching the blonde joggers w/ big asses

a delicious cup of three-dollar vacuum-packed faux-Cuban coffee (about a pound)
and I feel sorry for the people that don’t know the pleasures in being broke

My mom worries and tries to set me up

Jewish
Italian
it doesn’t matter

I tell her not to
she nods and does it anyway

Sprouts are good
just 1 dollar for a pound

Borscht too
50 cents for a baseball-sized beet
1.50 for the loaf of bread to dip it in

Beans especially
80 cents a can
1 dollar for tortillas

Meat
¼ pound thin cheap steak strips for 1.30

A man can eat well on 20 dollars a week if he applies himself

I watch the Mexican father
(of at least two I’ve seen)
across the way
lean his arm out the window of his modest brick home
about the size of two garages
he’s holding a cigarette
he is tired
as most Mexicans are
since we make them do all the work
and then complain about it

it is a beautiful day
he doesn’t give a shit about the sun

a good porterhouse crosses my mind

but I will finely dice my steak strips
add them to my brown beans
and use one slice of sourdough for dipping

and I will forget about it

like I’ll forget about the blonde joggers w/ big asses

even though I want them
like I want a steak

His cigarette’s finished
he closes the window

it’s time for his dinner too

and we both feel sorry
for the people that don’t know the pleasures in being broke

© 2008 Lee Kitzis