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