Happy Hour by Rod Drought

A dismal idea
A segmented time of day
That allows the elixir happiness
On barstools we sit fortified 
By well drinks and appetizers
Railing about work and life
That fogs into smiled sarcasms

The ice melts fast
After a stiff one is downed
Laughter sweet as Maraschino cherries
All stems cast aside 
Mild flirtations served
With bottomless fries
A touch of the leg
Brushing crumbs from a shirt
All that brews inside lives
In this lime wedge of time

Strange concept but true
In these small hours
I find happiness
Sitting here with you

Rod Drought was born in Yonkers, New York a long time ago but has called Arizona his home for twenty-six years. He is a father, pappa and a decent friend. He has written four books of poetry, been published in literary journals, newspapers, and is co-administrator to an online poetry page that supports poets worldwide. https://www.droughtsthirst.com/