The Drinking Game

she couldn’t stomach anything all week

doctor’s diagnosis; the stomach virus of the spring

week old vodka slithers down the spine and into a belly

that vomited just twice this morning

she clasps the secretive flask, brimming full with a bitter brew

unscrews the cap, tips it back,

rubbing alcohol and sweet sugar

numbing the pain of stretched muscles

clenched teeth, soaking liquid into tired skin

tongue like leather, each bud boiling from the lick of liquor

wincing, she wishes she could hold her face still like the men

who take gin and tonics in a heartbeat

–she takes hers in two

She couldn’t stomach anything all week

but still she plays the drinking game