She needs sour apple vodka mixed with a tart schnapps.

On her way in the nonchalant dark her dignity escaped her.

At the counter a man wonders where fugitive dignity hides.

She leaves holding black bags,

tries not to notice that even with 6 clanging bags of bottles

her load is lighter than it was.

22 Pounds of Wishes

I have 22 pounds of wishes hidden among the weeping wisteria.

The flowers by the pond have been melancholy a long time.

I drink with them.

Look at Lily’s tattoos.

Kind of abstract, don’t you think?

I’ve been told some people are really into that.

But the roses and I share the best laughs because we know it is not about pattern

but all about color and that soft, sweet texture on the fingerpads.

Meanwhile the snapdragons do deep, twisted math at the waters edge

and I drop a wish in the water.