We toasted Katherine the Great

and wished her well, but really

we were wishing ourselves ill

as the fat bartender tiptoed up and down

on his rubber mats like a circus bear.

Each time he scooped the ice

I flinched.  It reminded me of a rock

going through a warehouse window—

another of Lorenzo's drunken hobbies.

I moaned some in Lorenzo's ear.  His eyes

bobbed away on a sea of booze.  He listened,

swaying, then switched back to beer.