Second and Below

My next entry will be about a road trip I took to Wisconsin last summer with my Dad, son, and niece. Let this poem serve as a prelude to that entry. It explains a lot about my Dad and my sadomasochistic desire to take another trip with him. This Civil War Battlefield is Not a Water Park This battlefield is not a waterpark It is not fun for the whole family The only thing that ever flowed here was blood and sweat my sweat my brother’s sweat that cascades from under our White Sox caps like over filled buckets My Mom and sister stayed in the car blasting the A/C and New Kids on the Block cassettes and I hate them for it Not enough to shoot them because of conflicting views of slavery but enough to dunk each of them in a wave pool in a water park where we definitely are not at There is no joy no relief from Virginia weather at one in the afternoon in July We walk through “Bloody Lane” a great name for a country ro

I have no desire to go to New Orleans during Mardis Gras, Rio during Carnival, or Chicago during Lollapalooza. Sure as shit, I will never visit Munich during Oktoberfest. Why? Because it’s a beautiful city and why would I want to have it ruined by packs of drunken assholes in lederhosen? I got some history with Munich. The first trip I took to Europe was to perform at a literature/theatre festival in honor of the playwright Bertol Brecht. It was myself and a group of poets I had been collaborating with. We flew into Munich and were immediately whisked away by van to Augsburg, about an hour west of Munich. The festival was 3 days long and we tacked on an extra day at the end to perform in Munich proper. I fully admit that I was a terrible traveler at the time. We weren’t performing until the 3 rd night and I could have easily taken a day trip by train to Munich but I was too nervous. I was horrified at the thought of not being able to communicate and I was convinced my pas