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swallow it down with
two gulps of beer. Wait.
I plop on the plush
leather sofa, fake cheer
when Wisconsin scores,
slug down more beer. Wait. About the time
I think I must have
gagged down placebos,
my brain goes fuzzy
and my tongue thickens
in my mouth. Behind
my forehead, a zzzzzz
sound lifts, like bees swarming, and my ears
feel like I’m diving
deep. Pressure. I close
my eyes, try to shut out
football. Shouting. Crying.
Clucking. Burnt butter
smell. Dinner should be
interesting. To say the least.
Autumn
WE’VE ALWAYS KEPT
Thanksgiving relatively low-key.
Grandfather. Aunt Cora. And me.
We spend the day cooking. Tasting.
Eating. Getting way too full. Just us.
But not this year. This year
we’re going to a big schmooze
at Liam’s parents’ house in Austin.
Aunt Cora wants to introduce us.
