I can place you
stranger at the bar
magenta sliding off your coat
the forceful slap on the shoulder
laying me half flat on the polished counter.
The gruff admonition
that underneath it all
we are all after the same thing—
ones just out of grasp.
not the first or final
nonetheless, you'll learn fast
why we'll stare at the tumbler
it's heavy glass refracting
ourselves in each drop of water
mudding the resin rotgut
till the only thing we taste in the mirror
is a sweet petrichor burn

© Fae Hilscher