The Trauma of Whiskey

DIGESTIVE: on Friday nights you & I went to dinner in the small hick town where we lived. We’d meet your friends there & the evening would tip, licked by liquor, & you’d escape to the bar down the hall; around the corner. You’d go knowing I wasn’t old enough to follow. A green-eyed doe trained to sit & obey. My intestines knotted—grew intimate with the tension of Friday nights. I crushed tums between teeth to balance the jitters. The taste on my tongue was metallic. CIRCULATORY: irregular palpitations beat through a stethoscope, the doctor’s question lingered in her...

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