The Cocktail Hour, by Agneta Falk

                 In memory of Carol Tarlen

I can’t think of you without wanting
to reach for a glass to toast the revolution,
and then a toast to the new technology
or simply a toast to just being alive,
against all odds, as you would say.

You fighting woman
nose-diving into the latest film,
eating a hot dog on the corner
of Columbus and  Green Street,
spouting about one or another injustice.

You were America at its best,
down to the baseball roots.
The tobacco road without the nicotine.
Liking some of the fancy things
without being fancy.  Liking it simple.

Tongue on the trigger,
not missing a cue.
Sweet and sour all the way.
A basin full of rippling laughter
before & after the cocktail hour.

16 June, 2004

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