today that first swallow of Corona
(LA CERVESA MAS FINA)
tastes like old Molson Golden
and shades of grandpa on the couch
one simple sense
links to some unused bundle of neurons
and triggers ghosts of loved ones gone
stupid
I wonder what will bring mum to me
when she is gone some day distant
friend pork chops and boiled potatoes;
spinach and beans; chili and cigarette smoke
stale and carried on a winter breeze
stealing in through an open door or window
morbid
one swallow of Corona and the dead and the not dead
come to haunt me in the open air
with pulling hands
not yet