Tommy tequila by Emalisa Rose

He sent me a drink. “Make it a double,”
he tells Joe, with the calico eyes.

Joe, who I’d wanted for seventeen summers.
Joe, tending bar down the shore, putting up 
with the sass and the frass of the frat boys from

Phillie, and the debutantes, orange tinged
cowboys and cougars, with tans from the bottle,
before the sun shine got cozy again.

Back to the drink dribbler. He offered a rose
of a cocktail, sprung for a quarter, told me
to pick out a tune from the old jukebox.

“Figures it’s Elvis,” he said.

Hey, it was hot wings and Heinekens night,
lush with late May, by the marquise of stars
sea air and one double too many.

Thursdays at Joe’s tiki bar; Joe with those
sky eyes, that loved to roll over me.

Tonight, was a lark, as they say.

I left in the hands of a hound dog; He said
I should call him Tommy tequila.

When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and drawing with charcoals. She volunteers in animal rescue. Living by a beach town provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her work has appeared in Beatnik Cowboy, Spillwords and other fine places. Her latest collection is "On the whims of the crosscurrents," published by Red Wolf Editions.