Karebear slides me a Jack.
I grin.
"Kara, how dare you?
You know I'm raised on rye."
She laughs,
"This handsome Jameson
wears the night better than you."
I lift my Belvedere
like a man defending a faith
already half abandoned.
Every bottle's a believer
until the lights come on.
We drink to names,
to Gansett,
to the lies they let us borrow.
The glass doesn't care
who wins.
It only asks
who's empty first.
Joe Garvey is an American poet based out of Utah. A former linebacker at Hofstra University and later an actor in film and television, he writes about labor, salt air, endurance, and the quiet machinery of modern life. His work has appeared in Expat Press, Mad Swirl, The Lake, Aethlon: The Journal of Sport Literature, and The Rye Whiskey Review.
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