We drank an IPA at Vino’s, then a couple more.
The day sweltered; Times Square proved too much.
Jesus said, I feel like a million dollars here:
Fine people, food and drink—let’s have wine.
We ordered Madeira. Wouldn’t it be great, he said,
tapping his army surplus canteen, if you could simply
wave your hand, and your water turns to wine?
I said, you’re such a dreamer.
No no, sometimes I feel I could, you know, do things
like that, something inside tells me I could. There might be
special words, some command. Maybe it’s all
in the wrist motion, or blowing on the water in some
particular way—I see your smile, but I think I could.
If only I can get a reading on what’s inside me.
I tell myself, nothing is stopping me. Water,
He flicked his wrist, checked his canteen.
What’s the secret? It’s miracles every time in my dreams.
I’m getting so close, my fingertips burn! Doesn’t it show?
Well, here’s to you!
Back at ya, I said.
Gotta love that man!
Darrell Petska’s writing has appeared in the Tule Review, Lummox, Right Hand Pointing, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Star 82 Review and numerous other publications. Communications editor for many years with the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Darrell left academia to be the arbiter of his own words. He lives in Middleton, Wisconsin.
Photo credit: Jill Wellington