by Alex Gallo-Brown
I, too, mistake myself for a bartender
from time to time.
When I am walking through an art gallery
or private residence, like this one,
I think to myself, that fellow there,
he could use a drink.
Moscow Mule or Irish Car Bomb?
Pinot Noir or Pinot Gris?
It’s one of my true talents,
identifying other people’s beverage preferences.
I am not a professional—
I am a savant
posing as a layman—
an appreciator of art, say,
or the groom’s older brother.
But you, dear woman, saw
saw right through me!
Pasadena woman of the dangling earring
and perfectly coiffed hair,
I met my match in you.
I had thought that I was hidden,
when I was recognizable
by my face.
Alex Gallo-Brown is a poet and prose writer living in south Seattle. His poems have appeared in publications that include Tahoma Literary Review, Pacifica Literary Review, Seattle Review of Books, and City Arts magazine. He is currently a writer-in-residence with Seattle Arts and Lectures’ “Writers in the Schools.”