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

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