Airs
We added blackberries to the champagne so you couldn’t tell how
cheap it was, but the bubbles’ tiny voices told a story of steel barrels
and sugar added and, who knows, maybe a little anti-freeze for kick.
We just wanted to drink enough to cloud the stains off of our
shirtsleeves, to disown our blisters, but someone always killed the
glam by tipping in their chair or trying to lick the bottom of a
wineglass.
Our mother used to say, shit in one hand and wish in the other, and
a bird in the hand is worth a lot more if it’s the hand you wish in.
Smoking on the balcony, after all our friends had gone, you
confessed that you wouldn’t know what to do with a wish if you got
one. That the only thing you understood was making do.
Telling the Cub Scout Pack Leader that He Smelled Like My Dad
Was not an insult or cry
for attention
Not a request for surrogate
or approval
Just a shock after years of only
me and Mom
The arrival of mild sweat and grass
like discovering my house
Rebuilt in another country