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Shooters

Bill Tope

Our first date was ice
skating at the city rink.
On Christmas Eve.
You showed me how
to dance and everyone
stood in a circle and
watched us spin and
twirl.

One old couple said,
“They’re in love.”
You bought me cocoa and
roasted chestnuts and we
shared our first kiss under
the moon at midnight.

No. That’s not right.

Our first date was at a
tavern called Bucky’s.
We played pool with
some of your river rat
friends and you bet—
and lost—me to a
character named
Mick, who shared the
evening’s first kiss.

Later, we noshed on
greasy cheese corn
and drank shooters
till you passed out
drunk. And it wasn’t
Christmas Eve, it was
April first. At least
that’s the way I
remember it.

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