July 24Th is National Tequila Day! Let's celebrate with a poem by Randall Mann.
Last Call
A giant bird-
of-paradise
has climbed the bar:
in this paradise
there are no flowers,
no flowers at all.
When Happy Hour
becomes Last Call—
Adam in drag
our royalty—
we buy her gin
for eternity
(an unseen deejay
scores the years
with pulsing music
of the spheres).
Now the queen has gone,
gone again
in search of love,
in search of sin.
It’s closing time.
You were not at fault.
I drain my glass
and lick the salt.
of-paradise
has climbed the bar:
in this paradise
there are no flowers,
no flowers at all.
When Happy Hour
becomes Last Call—
Adam in drag
our royalty—
we buy her gin
for eternity
(an unseen deejay
scores the years
with pulsing music
of the spheres).
Now the queen has gone,
gone again
in search of love,
in search of sin.
It’s closing time.
You were not at fault.
I drain my glass
and lick the salt.
Now you can say you vomited on your shoes and read a poem by a 2003 Kenyon Review Prize in Poetry winner! You are soooo multi-tasking today.
