AFFAIR

God it’s sexual, opening a beer when you swore you wouldn’t

drink tonight,

taking the first deep gulp, the foam backing up in the long amber

neck

of the Pacifico bottle as you set it on the counter, the head spilling

over

so you bend to fit your mouth against the cold lip

and drink, because what you are, aren’t you, is a drinker—maybe

not a lush,

not an alcoholic, not yet anyway, but don’t you want

a glass of something most nights, don’t you need the gesture

of reaching for it, raising it high and swallowing down and

savoring

the sweetness, or the scalding, knowing you’re going to give

yourself to it

like a lover, whether or not he fills up the leaky balloon of your

heart—

don’t you believe in trying to fill it, no matter what the odds,

don’t you believe it still might happen, aren’t you that kind of

woman?