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jane
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bottle & barlow,
2015: we began
by ordering the mezcal special,
complete with peppered salt rims,
watermelon shrub. the smokiness
resonated. shaken
and poured into chimney glasses,
the travesty of presentation
in crumpled paper brown bag. an insult
to anyone who snuck away from gas stations
full-fisted with forties, park-bound
just to be alone with our bikes, the darkness,
and wet grass. a toast:
to the disenfranchised,
the salt of the earth.
a momentary pause - let us thank
the academy - a smoky afterthought, really,
to the one who taught me
mezcal is the scotch of tequilas,
before leaning in to kiss me
and hold my hand like we were lovers.
lately, it's been the wooden cork,
the biting fume, two segmented worms
drifting near the bottom. i am reminded
of the cigarette illusion: filter stuck
to tongue, flip back,
allow the salty smoke to gather,
(exhale through nostrils if necessary)
remember the salty flavor of ash.
flip back out. repeat: in repeat: out.
sip your beer, butt's gone,
crowd goes wild.
a magician never
reveals her secrets.
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150916
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