100 Cocktails Later

RHYTHM

Another round of the house special—a drink
called RHYTHM. Another cigar.
My mouth around a moist edge
shared
as if I am kissing all the boys around this table.

For your birthday, I represent my mom & dad.
Prove that I haven’t inherited their
low tolerance, their alch-allergy.
I can make it through the threshold,
only falling onto your lap and pushing
back hair so you can see.
I’m happy to celebrate you—

how you stare at the ceiling
with every sip, your eyes crossing
as tobacco burns, your breath
drawing smoke patterns, swirls that
weave through shirt fibers

grazing my skin
with the fragrance of ease.

We unlock the hours with RHYTHM,
a gentle swish before the gulp
a glance at the game score
a puff and repetition.
Then hold one another by exit door
swaying as our first dance.

Come with me.

I recline toward the sky as we cruise
in sixth gear. Follow the length
of the power lines—the five wires
with birds perched like notes on sheet music.

The car a finger passing each word of a story.
The car orchestrating what will become of tonight.