I've been sitting here for almost a half hour
trying to absorb today's words and turn
them into a tasty drink but they're stubborn
things today. And then I realize what's wrong;
I haven't gotten the ingredients out. So I just
start typing. That's the secret, you know: starting.
I get the tequila out of the cupboard, the Limeaid
out of the freezer, the 7-Up and Corona from
the fridge. I mix twelve ounces of each together
in a big pitcher. I don't use a blender because I'd
end up with a storm in my kitchen and cleaning
up messes is no fun. I get a couple of Margarita
glasses out, dip the rims in the drink, then into
coarse salt, add ice and the concoction. I hand
one to Donna, who knows a great deal about
cleaning up messes as her camper got badly
damaged in a huge explosion and fire last spring,
take the other one for myself, then we sit and talk.
And, that's how life turns into a poem: booze,
tears, laughter, and two friends sipping their drinks.