A neutral bar-- enough; one might quarrel with the bartender's tattoos
but who can argue with pizza? Don't know exactly what I was expecting
one year ago over pepperoni slices, except that you were
hotter in person and your voice warmer than any bio-interests belied.
Those sparkler moments when interest went from idle to active--
your "because if you can, why not?" over a trip to Scotland to watch
a band with a sentence long name, the romance lighting, the way
when we decamped to the last and only journalist dive in town
you said "yah, I'm not fancy, give me a well whiskey and a rainier."
The well at the Streamline is Old Crow. We learn, in time, this is our
low-end threshold, that it's worth a dollar or two more for
Beam or Jack when facing down Potters or McCormicks.
The Rainier remains steady, sometimes even without the whiskey.
Those first-date bars are out of our way, but haven't disappeared.
Pizza remains steady, sometimes even without pepperoni.
This morning I kissed you half sleeping, made breakfast,
left the last egg for you.