brown whiskey

pour me another, she says,
drifting into a sultry betty davis
way of slouching forward
with pouty lips and big eyes.
pour me another, and don't
be stingy, she says. I wish
I had a cigarette. I wish
I had a carton of cigarettes.
i'd smoke them all one after
another while we sit here
discussing our future and drinking
brown whiskey.
i'm taking off my blouse,
she says. it's hot in here.
you don't mind, do you.
and turn off that light.
what am I under interrogation?
open a window, for god's sake,
it's like a Chinese laundry
in this room.
pour me another, she says,
holding out her tumbler,
clinking the ice against
the glass, pour me another
and tell me our future.
tell me if you love me,
or if you don't. I don't care.
either way is fine. she throws
her blouse across the room.
it swims in the air
like a white bird falling
to the floor. get a glass
and have one with me. let's make
a toast. let's drink to us.
or if not us, then whoever
comes next. come on. pour
me another and one for
yourself, let's both go down
with this sinking ship.