Gin

The first time it was like pine-
the sterile smell snuck into
the house disguised as mother
and collapsed on the sofa.
Crowding the room with unconsciousness
and the faintest scent of Opium.

Later, it was a photographer I dated
for two months who took a picture of Bombay
for a magazine ad and took refrigerator acid that
dissolved on his tongue like
West Bend diamonds.

Lime poetry readings,
David Lehman martinis...
a graduate student named Zeke,
East side tree sap
tonic and ice
tonic and ice, tonic and ice…