Tonight's Poet Corner: Hiccup Brew

Hiccup Brew
by Belinda Roddie

August was deceivingly short, so when
September swept in wearing slippers, I took it
upon myself to visit every pub in the autumn and
savor a draft from a frosted glass every day.
It was around the beginning of the leaves' descent
that I found a friend with a chronic case of hiccups,
which gave his words a rhythm like no other,
and I could pound out an accompaniment with my fists
on the bar table as the other patrons, and the bartender,
listened in. I asked him,  "Do you do anything
to fix your hiccups? Like,  what's the doctor's orders?"
And he smiled and said, "Doctor's-mm-orders? Mm-no.
I-mm-enjoy-mm-my little ditty." And so he did,
because he was his own little record player, with
the needle skipping once in a while, in always that

mm-mm-mm

murmur, swilling brew so the bubbles crackled
with the curve of his throat.