Gin Fizz and Tom Collins sit next to each other.
Complacent and content to be near one another,
one glass is sweatier than the other, on
this suburban August day,
not yet inured.
Tom tips his hat and two citrus droplets
topple and shed.
He is embarrassed.
Gin curtsies but finds she is too bloated
to be comfortable in her bent position
and immediately returns to
her upright position.
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