Gin and tonics are not the same
without you he says as I walk
out my back door. The mulberry
tree is dropping its fruit and I step
between purple smears, remembering
last May and the May before. Lime
or lemon I ask and he answers it’s got
to be lime. A whole book of poems,
I say, written for one man and now
there’s no poetry in my life. Bloody
Marys he says, rum and coke, a green
glass rimmed with salt. He left me
with straight lines I say, nothing
flowery or forget me not.  Bloom
where you are planted JD says.
I laugh until I can’t breathe.
If we lived by the sea things could change
and he says yes. The ocean aphrodisiac,
sand polishing our hearts every day
until we will agree to anything.
or nothing at all. I’m bar hopping,
I wish you were here. Like a frog,
I say, and imagine the lovers we both
are wishing for. The transformative kiss?
Or someone who listens to our words
and wants to hear more. Lemon,
I insist, a slice of sour sunshine.
It’s better than no sunshine at all.

# # #

Beth Gordon has been landlocked in St. Louis, Missouri for 17 years but dreams of oceans, daily. Her work has recently appeared in Into the Void, Verity La, decomP, Calamus Journal, After Happy Hour Review and others. She can be found on Twitter @bethgordonpoet.

Photo: Casper Aprikatis