Drinking for free
I order a cocktail with a cut of red bell pepper.
Wrestle its ridged length back using my tongue.
The bartender smiles and I smile. He looks younger than me.
When I was twenty-four, I loved selling drinks.
One with woodsmoke. One where you stab the straw
through a thin slice of apple to get at an inch
of sugar and whiskey. Before my fiancé left
he said, Taneum, while I tried to sleep.
At a camp with ten other men, he learned he could never
forgive himself for his past while living with me.
The bartender hands over a drink he calls The Lady Killer
for free. Says I am a relief to talk to.
That most women are bisexual and want to be empowered
so resist his attempts to treat them like queens.
I pull the sprig of rosemary out of the collins glass
and the ice sinks. I ask him if he wants to kill me.
Killing me is the joke of this drink.
