sundowners a’blowin’

I took my palm tree for a walk…

ears flapping like fronds

and truncated torso bristling…
 
–scalloped hackles the envy

of every wood-be pineapple in the hood,

but luckily

~for the wind~

it was all bark, and no bite.

the abyss grips

my hem-

-unlocked by a combination
 
of “oh, man’s!”

lonely

6

better the devil you know

scared

6

the hell into me

hunger

6

razing Cain

‘set to simmer at a nice high temperature

in Hell’s Kitchen.

 
She’s always been a blended drink.

Al’s favorite slammer,

and Moe’s favorite heat–

you’ll find her more Margarita than Mary,

a melting pousse, pousse, pousse that’s

–part ta kill ya

–part splashy sex

–part sour-n-sweet-n-

salty rims

all the same

she’s one girlie cocktail

known to separate out

after sitting

(un)becoming hard to swallow

wry—bitters—and cherry

her·mouth should be sweet!

and is altogether better when you

mix her

(old-fashioned as she is)

as she muddles fairly easily,

inclining her to throw rocks, instead of chew them

without sin, you know

break straws she ought grasp

f*ck that Joe Camel

eschew chimneys for buckets

listing or seated

all the while

Looking through her

bottomless

Glass.

©Karen Robiscoe

related: Mud Gets in Your Eyes

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