Drinking Song

Steady beats of bass drums, soft 

arpeggios of guitars, wistful words 

rolling forth, swelling crescendos— 

she drank it all in. Then she slammed 

a few bills on the counter, spilling 

out onto the street, the musical high 

keeping the biting winter air at bay.

“Fourth night at the bar this week 

already, you can’t keep this up,” 

she imagined him chiding. Except

her memory of him came from a time 

before restrictions. Would he understand 

if he were here now?

She felt around for the last few bills. 

Payday sat a week away, but the bar 

already beckoned to her once again.

After three days without a taste,

she no longer felt real. Normally acrid 

shrieks of her boss passed through her. 

The customers droned on so blandly, 

she could hardly discern their orders.

Even when she dreamed of him and his

lilting voice, it failed to nourish her.

Her body vaguely complained of 

hunger, yet she had no desire to eat.

Screw meals, she could only get

the sweet, crisp taste from the bars. 

Darting up the alley, she felt her heart 

tumble when she saw the owner in front 

of the speakeasy, shaking his head. “Sorry,

love. They clamped down on listening bars—

we were the last. They’ll be here to confiscate 

everything any moment now. You should leave.”

“Please,” she pleaded, “I just need one song. 

Any song! There’s nowhere else I can hear one.”

Pity filled his eyes as tears filled hers, so he

let her in and switched on crackling speakers.

Hesitating for only a moment, he flipped on

the strobe lights too, a rare and expensive treat.

Strong drum beats stampeded the room, 

carrying lyrics of angst and anger.

She sat quietly, breathing light

and drinking song, for the last time.