Meet Me at Barney's
Nina Bennett

Friday nights we went to Barney’s,
where the bartender grinned and saluted
when we sashayed in, he knew
business would be good.
We sat at the bar and talked trash,
upside-down shot glasses lined up before us
like trophies. We’d dance to classic rock
and covet the toffee-colored lead singer. 
We were happy drunks.

Two marriages, one divorce later
I drive to that same corner, pull onto new asphalt,
sit in silence before a big-box store.
A young couple balances a television
in their hatchback, the girl hangs over the seat
to hold the TV in place. Her laughter floats
across the parking lot the way yours did
the night it unexpectedly snowed. You scooped
frigid flakes from the jump seat of my red Triumph,
presented them to the night in your bare hands
like a Magi bearing treasure
before releasing them out the open window.