- John Wellers
The Need for a Dry Martini
The Need for a Dry Martini
His desert-tan beard covers a
grin like a khaki tarp sprinkled by
sand once buffeted on high winds
and low erosive words.
Lobster legs, then a
buttery slurp, dipped and smacked
by the same tongue like
light rain on a desert beard.
“How are you?” precipitates
like a dry-heave. You yank the string
tied between the corners of your mouth
and your shoulders, shrugging.
Breaking limbs under unrelenting
pressure, his gut flaunts like the wise-
ass, jovial guru that you evaded
your whole adult life.
“Really, how are you?” he pressures,
bones begin to shatter, shelter
snaps, scatters, scamps, exoskeleton
keeps its form but barely holds.
You gush, saturated
eyes twist your heart’s throat
brittle toffee-parts soaked
stiff, turgid; please don’t touch.
—John Wellers