Cosmopolitan

I’m chilled. I’m like the glass.

Smooth and glossy, insinuating wealth

I’m transparent – what you see it what you get.

And you get what you see with me.

So I’m cool. Like the glass.

But beneath sits a heart of ice.

I watch him, his muscles ripple.

He’s pellucid – what you see is what you get.

And you can get him on the beach every day.

So I’m sophisticated. Like the Cobbler.

Everything blended. Taking in the variety of components.

Vodka, Cointreau, Cranberry – shots in the dark.

I’m obvious – you like what you see

And what’s not to like about me?

So I’m complex. Like the cocktail.

But it’s more complicated than that.

The elaborate mix of feelings and fears.

I’m conspicuous – I stand out in the crowd.

But down crowd me – I need space.

So I’m urban. Like the mixer,

A product of a metropolitan upbringing,

I watch him. The lime is sliced.

He shakes the shaker. I shake inside.

I’m translucent -  I’ve nothing to hide

But I’m hiding nothing.

So I’m shaken and stirred. Like the liquid.

He flexes his biceps. Strained in the T-shirt.

The drink is strained in the glass.

Our eyes meet.  ‘Lemon or lime twist?”

I say what I mean. ‘Whatever you’ve got.’

And I mean what I say.

So I ‘m lonely and drunk. Like the aperitif.

I swig back the booze.  The glass empties in one.

There’s contempt in his eyes but he raises the glass.

‘Happy hour. Would you care for another?’

Am I slurring I wonder? ‘Set ‘em up Joe.’

But I have been set up.

Not so polished now as I polish it off.

By Linda Prince

© Nemo