Niagara Falls, what? You're supposed to pee your pants.
She did it me then, and then some. You think
it's gonna be all wax museum and neon,
until some geologic magic makes it worth it.
I was on Maid of the Mist and the captain
waved his wand and married us right on the border.
I was wet and wrapped in plastic.
She was streaked with rainbows.
My fellow passengers backed away
even as they applauded, hesitant to acknowledge
our startling difference in girth.
She kissed and kissed me with her drops,
as she did them all, the harlot,
and there she keeps flowing even as I sail away.
K.I. Press lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba, where she is a poet, mom, and college instructor. Her books are Pale Red Footprints (Pedlar, 2001), Spine (Gaspereau, 2004) and Types of Canadian Women (Gaspereau, 2006).
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan