The First Drinks - Prose Poetry
What’s that? Bubbles, sparklers for my tongue coated in orange flavoring. A “breezer” indeed for the hot night. Another? Yes. Five percent surely can’t knock you on your curious ass. Tastes interesting. Effects not yet apparent.
What’s next? What do you know? Name a list of names and from it I will pick you the most succulent. I list. You pick. We wait. I try your Guinness…
…and gag.
Tasty drinks for me, my friend. And this. Mixed with milk and called White Russian. Never been, but if the drink reflects the country? Vacation time. Smooth silk with a slight bite. Drinking too fast. No good. Tastes good. Ah, when the fresh air hits, you’ll see, butterfly.
A few more. Bored. What’s next? A fine hazelnut liquor. Frangelico. Sounds like a pansy foreign man, my thought. My tastes say tastes like a sweet lover. Indeed, I have found you. Dare ‘favorite’ play so early?
More. Then time up. Homeward we go. Fresh air the key ingredient. I stumble. Not my fault; the world keeps shifting. Growing warm, world spinning, beautiful, starry night.
Glory be to the zip up sweater.
Nothing underneath, save a red bra.
Public almost-nudity for the first time.
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