Not Arguing With The Bar Tender Over Half A Miller Lite Draft By Don Monaghan

—for MK

My glass is half full she says      

as matter-of-factly as she 

is lovely — a ginger flashing a smile

and waistline that elicits starry-eyed 

expressions from her patrons     

I say my glass is what it is

—which once meant a fickle whore 

the fingered reflection of this observer's

mood on any particular day—

But today I say it's best

if we don't find miracles  

nor the lowest wretches 

in the fluid level of a frosty utensil  

Instead let's air some light laundry 

listen to familiar music 

to my head or your heart 

ignore our new acquaintance on the end 

who's certain his experience

is the yellow brick road 

you me and Fido can follow

past every set of glazed lifeless 

eyes along the wayside

She's not remotely impressed

perhaps even peeved 

at my misperceived...What? Neutrality?

I see she's dead sure I'm telling 

the wrong story so I don't

speak of wending the intricacies  

of an irreparable love 

or the feeling of walking in and finding 

the woman I married naked  

hair still wet from the shower

nor the funeral I've just come from

or how glorious the motorcycle

ride here was afterwards

Instead I say By God you know what?

Mine Too! Half Full It Is!

Only because right now her smile  

will find my smile and because at 54 

I've finally come to accept the bringing in 

and the washing away much like 

believing in loss is a way of knowing 

and allowing simple pleasures 

is a way of forgetting 

Don Monaghan has been published in The Boston Literary Magazine and The Ravens Perch. He resides in Upstate NY.