Drinking for free

I order a cocktail with a cut of red bell pepper.

Wrestle its ridged length back using my tongue.

The bartender smiles and I smile. He looks younger than me.

When I was twenty-four, I loved selling drinks.

One with woodsmoke. One where you stab the straw

through a thin slice of apple to get at an inch

of sugar and whiskey. Before my fiancé left

he said, Taneum, while I tried to sleep.

At a camp with ten other men, he learned he could never

forgive himself for his past while living with me.

The bartender hands over a drink he calls The Lady Killer

for free. Says I am a relief to talk to.

That most women are bisexual and want to be empowered

so resist his attempts to treat them like queens.

I pull the sprig of rosemary out of the collins glass

and the ice sinks. I ask him if he wants to kill me.

Killing me is the joke of this drink.