In training, eight of us, the day before

National Martini Day, already

Ruddy from white wine, watch the maestro pour

A splash of Scotch, flavor the rocks, steady

His hand, restrain the ice, drain the pitcher,

Then drizzle the gin. We debate how dry

To craft it, how close vermouth’s encounter

Should be. Just pass the uncapped bottle by,

Says one. We settle on a drop apiece,

Agree to stir, not shake, drink from the same

Giant goblet, make the seeming caprice

A serious toast to friendship, not a game,

No trifling lark, but something well beyond—

We let this crisp concoction build a bond.



John Kucera


  I am a poet based in Arizona and am submitting five poems for your consideration. My previous work has appeared in New Reader Magazine, Friends Journal, Connections Magazine and Rattle.

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