my smile fades
from the smell of
unexpected onions
fourth shot of whiskey poised
in my left hand
you rise in my throat
bile and reflux
but you are nothing
if not consistent
molested by the memory
of you
endlessly comparing me
to that damned bottle
of bourbon
wild
free
stately noble bird
amber eyed Kentucky royalty
worthy of addiction
who will kick your ass
if you don’t mean it
not for beginners
or the faint of heart
yet somehow
reasonable
and to hell with you still
i say
you and your Custer decisions
when you make your last call
last stand
each night
succumbing to the same
faulty strategy
sulk in your warm bath and remember
you lost to the indians
all on your own
(slams her shot in a way only bartenders and the triumphant understand)