The Bar of Lovers

La Borracha stops at the ATM
on her way to the evening
walking distance
from ten bars
a staggering block
between the past and present
furnace heat and frozen rain.

From left to right, the glass behind the bar makes it
bigger, makes it all prettier, like trophies with a liquid
center, a candy, a prize—

A single malt and water, your ex’s drink
now yours, now mine.
A Greyhound for the racetrack—
betting the exacta for your grandmother.
A Whiskey sour for my family like deviled eggs
on the fourth of July.
A Tanqueray and tonic is your girlfriend’s drink but we
drink it anyway.
A Northcoast Ale for that Spring we were going to
save ourselves and the forest.
A smooth aged Tequila that you taught me to sip and savor.
Manhattans and Cosmos when I’m feeling hip and retro.
Bombay Sapphire for a break up or a baby.
A bottle of Jack for a nationalistic binge.
A Lemon Drop like it’s not poison at all.

She wants to learn a new drink
but can’t afford a new lover
not in her present state—
her illustrious position,
Queen of the fourth stool from the left—
He, at the other end of the bar, orders an Irish Coffee
She curls her hair behind one ear with an ashy finger,
she checks her lipstick, in her pocket mirror...

Margaret Elysia Garcia
from La Borracha