Florida: Boats and Sasquatch’s

The best medicine is bourbon.

Straight from the bottle,

Straight from a rigid hand

Cold, bitten by the freezing temperatures

While looking at the landscapes

through the fog of one’s own breath.

I could sit on my porch forever

Thinking about stupid things,

Like how Texas could beat the heat

If they just converted to Celsius.

Or how the real lake monsters

Ride in pontoon boats,

And drink beers in boardshorts and bikinis.

It’s as if we thought it was a good idea

To give Bigfoot the ability to intoxicate himself

And go looking for the loch ness.

I stopped looking at the headlines after a while,

Florida was getting the best of me.

And that’s why I left Fort Myers for Banff Canada.

My favorite part of the day is when I look out the window

While scraping my dishes clean of leftover baked beans and cubed hot dogs,

At the hillside which you can follow from side to side,

Just to realize it’s a long forever frown.

I live in a place where 3 degrees is the average,

Where beavers make dams out of skulls and fibulas,

And the anti-Christmas cults run rampant.

Suffice it to say the desolation desolates

And I absolutely love it.