We toasted Katherine the Great
and wished her well, but really
we were wishing ourselves ill
as the fat bartender tiptoed up and down
on his rubber mats like a circus bear.
Each time he scooped the ice
I flinched. It reminded me of a rock
going through a warehouse window—
another of Lorenzo's drunken hobbies.
I moaned some in Lorenzo's ear. His eyes
bobbed away on a sea of booze. He listened,
swaying, then switched back to beer.
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