the elixir

stuck between

the moon and a hard night glow

at a backyard party

I knew, right away,

she was under a twisted spell.

responding to my pithy repartee

with blurry “yep’s” and “nope’s”,

she remarked, at last: 

you’re in a good mood, 

you should bottle that:

like a magic potion – 

and she raised a beer to her lips.

but as she went to take a swig

the drink fell,

rollicking to the grass,

and spilled, disappearing into the ground

. . . abracadabra – gone . . . 

there’s a message in that bottle somewhere,

she slurred – but smiled,

with a trace of her old affection.

she stilled, then – sad as a whiskey stare –
abruptly sighing, as if she’d set her mind,

and whispered:  

I’ve had enough. 


note:  the prompt from Poetry Jam this week is "bottle".  

photo:  The Elixir – W. Bourke 

© 2014 Wendy Bourke