Hot Toddy by McCaela Prentice

I think that love is terrible and I tell that

to the bartender who tells everyone

that he makes me breakfast.

It’s not that people are cruel it’s just that they

are careless; it’s not that I am drunk

it’s just that I see all light as smears

on a dark canvas. I ask him to

make all my drinks with honey—

ask him just to look at me. ask him

shouldn’t we just love each other

in case I die tomorrow

and how lucky — he doesn’t hear me

over the sound of ice grating

in the shaker.

---

McCaela Prentice is living and writing in Astoria, New York. Her poetry has previously appeared in Ghost City Press, Hobart, and Perhappened Magazine. Her debut poetry chapbook JUNK DRAWER HEART was published by Invisible Hand Press in 2020. Tweeting @mccaelaa