"Bacardi" - Stephanie Albrecht

Bacardi Razz. Bacardi Rum.
Bacardi on ice, shaken, and decorated with zest.
Bacardi shoved down my pried-open throat
by hands of friends, whores, secluded Diana Ross types
All looking for diamond stud earrings that dropped
to the bottom of my Bacardi Dream.

Bacardi with cream. Cream and sprinkles and a cherry
in a shot. Shot with no hands, lick
it off the plate, off my face, and in my mouth.
I want you to punch me, hit me in my face until I’m bleeding
Bacardi Red into my drink.

Bacardi Spritzer. Bacardi lemon twist served over the counter
two seats down to the bearded man sporting Bacardi Blue.
I lick the sugar rim
anticipating his hands sliding down the neck of the bottle.

Basic Bacardi martini. Dirty
and dry. Delicious Bacardi scents
fill the bar and I’m still bleeding Bacardi Red,
with fresh Bacardi bruises.

Single or double? No, just Bacardi.

Bacardi Red lips smile,
a weird small smile, revealing
missing teeth and an exposed jaw.
Bacardi rum is running down the corner
of the upturned lip. And I’m bleeding,
yet Bacardi laughter escapes. And I can’t stop
laughing and crying and bleeding
Bacardi all night.

Bacardi wears me out,
Bacardi slows me
and the bartender is wasted
and the cabs have all gone home.

Bacardi beckons me,
beckons forcefully.

Stephanie Albrecht is a senior at UW-Madison in the undergraduate English: Creative Writing department. She is from Kenosha, Wisconsin, sings alto in the University Chorus and enjoys playing her clarinet..