Merie Kirby

Cheers


to my grandma, cheap chardonnay at her side,
white over ice, and her formula for equilibrium:
if there’s only ice in the glass, add more wine,
if there’s only wine, add more ice, fighting
Old Solitaire, lining up her aces after dinner,
to Phil, horrified I’d never had a Manhattan,
apologizing for not having better bourbon for my first,
to Tony, making G&Ts in 16 oz plastic cups
to my dad, keeping track of stores that stock
my favorite beer and new ones I might like,
to the friends I huddled with over beer in bars,
wine in restaurants, scotch on the couch,
to Jill and Tricia, to Terri and Mark,
to Uncle George, living on in the coffee
we drink in his name, cut through with Bailey’s
and Kahlua, cold winter mornings and late afternoons,
to my husband, quietly placing a glass at my side,
ice cubes clinking in single malt amber, fueling
late night sessions reading first year papers,
sweetening the grades.