Tonight's Poet Corner: Common Era

Common Era
by Belinda Roddie

Get me a beer and a ham sandwich
with all the damn fixings: I'm itching
for something stronger than five percent
alcohol, but anything to get my brain
wading in the waters of a new world will
suffice in this brand new dystopia. Keep

this bar air conditioned, since it's too
hot outside to dance anymore. Once
the dead pig settles in my stomach, I'll sidle
over to the pool table and pretend that the sky
isn't falling after all. Maybe a pretty lady
will leave lipstick all over my new shirt. President's
brand. It's all supposed to be great again.

Does anyone carry a box of cigars? I haven't
smoked a good one since Florida got weighed
down with sea salt and sadness. Shame, too; it had
good beaches. Margaritas on me, boys. Tequila's
rare these days, and the guacamole hasn't had real
avocados in it for almost three years. Once I finish
my beer, I'll groom myself

in the one stall bathroom, while the dame takes
a long enough piss that makes me remember
going to the falls, when the air was still easy
to swallow and you could see right through
the water in the glass. Heaven help
me, I'm exhausted and poisoned. Another beer
might soothe the ulcers in my stomach before
the earth belches one last plaintive anthem.