Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Bartender's Girl

At four, she sneaked a sip
from someone’s beer;
at eight, an uncle
let her have some wine.
Funny, she never got tipsy then...
She cannot tell if she ever
lost her head
to anything liquid, except
the subtle rain,
the tones and shadows
on crashing waves,
and tears on friendly faces,
for she has tied her faith
to the affable bartender
pouring perception to
customers on swivel chairs,
who take in enchantment
to pass out on living, and
she inhales anise, rum, and gin
as if rose petals
while she pushes her broom
on the barroom floor.