Whiskey Girl

Whiskey Girl

Juniper blossom

in a Martini glass,

“neat.”

Add an onion

and it’s now a Gibson.

Replace the gin with vodka,

Martini no longer,

at least

not a real one anyway.

It’s all noise.

Like looking through

photographs,

pasting new faces

to old bodies.

Letting them age,

with not so much

grace.

Time will burn the paper yellow,

or some kind of gray.

Antique;

turning the glass upside down,

preparing for the rain

of life.

I was a whiskey girl anyway.

And I like to kick cans

down my street.

Reviews

[Robin]

the image of that whiskey glass shoots through the mind , bottoms up and I can hear it slammed down on the counter , moving past labels and preconceptions , a watch me now attitude ..