Close to Closing: A Gin-Soaked Love Poem by Trish Saunders

Just listen to that wind, will you?  

Like it’s trying to get inside—

heartless bastard’s

trying to blow down 

every unlucky little sapling

and everyone sheltering beneath it.

More atomic for your cocktail?

I find a smile, instead of a finger snap,

will bring the server.  Agree, 

the piano player would prefer his fingers 

twirling a glass stem. Let’s stand him a gin.

Like you, I thought we arrived 

with a few others,

but there’s only you and me 

still sitting in these chairs.  

Yes, we would like our lamp lit,

no more peanuts, or breath-

killers, thanks. We have hopes, still. 

Trish Saunders has poems published or forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, Pacifica Poetry Review, Right Hand Pointing, Rye Whiskey Review, and other places. She lives in Seattle.