13thWR

CHRISTMAS EVE

Take the elevator up
five sleek floors.
Feel guilty; it's late.
Liquor stores are closed
and you promised a bottle of wine
to grace tomorrow's table.
Maybe Alberta's got one.

Well, knock and see.
Don't mind the neighbors'
stares: husband dead
a month, already she's . . .
Knock for Alberta, who'll rush
in a streak of yellow silk
to the door, cheeks flushed,
eyes laden, toenails poppy
against the carpet's beige.
Ask her. She'll hand you a bottle
of red, then white, better than
what you'd have bought yourself.

- Rachel Squires Bloom