Jeremy Wilson
WHAT A FOOL BELIEVES
Michael McDonald is God
of yacht rock, which means
He will answer our prayers
with shrimp cocktail & salted rims,
and He is always there for us
when we need Him
but sometimes requires an interpreter.
If I ever get a boat
I will name her Sweet Freedom.
If we don’t pay attention
He will leave us like
that thing you told me
you needed from Target.
I knew I should’ve written it down.
The happiest days in a man’s life
are when he buys a boat
and when he sells a boat,
which sounds a lot like a joke
a suburban dad might tell
about his ex-wife while on his boat
listening to Michael McDonald.
If we could catalog the times
He’s helped us with his smooth grooves
it would be our gospel:
The book of Doobie.
And here I am in this Target
trying to remember what it is
I keep forgettin’
and here He is, singing
What a Fool Believes, when suddenly
there’s a scented candle & some White Claw
in my cart.
But that’s not what you wanted.
Was it sunscreen?
And then there was the time
we got a couples massage
in a cabana outside of Cabo
and I was uncomfortable
with a strange woman oiling up my back,
but then I heard His voice
by the pool, singing
Minute by Minute, and I relaxed
under the hot rocks.
That was a good trip.
We spent three days
in a treehouse, and it was cool
so you stole a throw off the bed
and wore it as a shawl & drank mezcal
until your thumbs were numb,
while I still think mezcal
tastes like burnt basketball shoes.
I have a regular suburban dad game
where most weeks somebody ends up hurt,
and every week another complains
about his ex-wife.
In the end we all sit around
drinking beer & eating pizza & listening to music.
When I sprained my ankle,
I kept a bag of ice on it and stayed too late
because there’s pleasure in company
despite how much it hurt,
and there he was again, Michael McDonald,
easing my pain with a heavy dose of
Yah Mo B There.
He is the ice in the cooler.
The umbrella in the drink.
The sunset over the water.
And I pray to Him that I will remember
what it is you need
from this Target
before I leave.
Michael McDonald is God
of yacht rock, which means
He will answer our prayers
with shrimp cocktail & salted rims,
and He is always there for us
when we need Him
but sometimes requires an interpreter.
If I ever get a boat
I will name her Sweet Freedom.
If we don’t pay attention
He will leave us like
that thing you told me
you needed from Target.
I knew I should’ve written it down.
The happiest days in a man’s life
are when he buys a boat
and when he sells a boat,
which sounds a lot like a joke
a suburban dad might tell
about his ex-wife while on his boat
listening to Michael McDonald.
If we could catalog the times
He’s helped us with his smooth grooves
it would be our gospel:
The book of Doobie.
And here I am in this Target
trying to remember what it is
I keep forgettin’
and here He is, singing
What a Fool Believes, when suddenly
there’s a scented candle & some White Claw
in my cart.
But that’s not what you wanted.
Was it sunscreen?
And then there was the time
we got a couples massage
in a cabana outside of Cabo
and I was uncomfortable
with a strange woman oiling up my back,
but then I heard His voice
by the pool, singing
Minute by Minute, and I relaxed
under the hot rocks.
That was a good trip.
We spent three days
in a treehouse, and it was cool
so you stole a throw off the bed
and wore it as a shawl & drank mezcal
until your thumbs were numb,
while I still think mezcal
tastes like burnt basketball shoes.
I have a regular suburban dad game
where most weeks somebody ends up hurt,
and every week another complains
about his ex-wife.
In the end we all sit around
drinking beer & eating pizza & listening to music.
When I sprained my ankle,
I kept a bag of ice on it and stayed too late
because there’s pleasure in company
despite how much it hurt,
and there he was again, Michael McDonald,
easing my pain with a heavy dose of
Yah Mo B There.
He is the ice in the cooler.
The umbrella in the drink.
The sunset over the water.
And I pray to Him that I will remember
what it is you need
from this Target
before I leave.
Jeremy Wilson is the author of the short story collection Adult Teeth (Tortoise Books) and a former winner of the Chicago Tribune’s Nelson Algren Award for short fiction. His work has appeared in The Carolina Quarterly, The Florida Review, Hobart, The Masters Review, Sonora Review, Third Coast, The Best Small Fictions 2020 and other publications. He has an MFA from Northwestern University and teaches creative writing at The Chicago High School for the Arts.