Thursday, April 15, 2010


The Pub at the Center of the Universe

Throwing myself onto the barstool
as if it was a bomb and the bartender was you,
I found your note under the Bombay Sapphire and tonic.

Some would say
I arrived too late. But the note told me
where you were.

You died before I was born. That juniper and quinine
flowed through my veins, a mild intoxicant,
not a poison. I have your laugh in my pocket.

I never needed to save you. I swallowed
the map. You dance here,
tipsy, in my heart.

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