we sat at the kitchen counter
and drank rum and coke

and she didn't speak
and i didn't speak

and the rum fell
into our glasses in drips

and the coke fell
like a faucet on full blast.

under all the sugar-sweetness
was alcohol and little
peaks of excitement
for suburbia.

bet the other kids
don't get to do this.

some stupid spanish love song
was playing on the radio
high up on the cabinet

and her mother
was hanging clothes

out in the backyard
of dirt and footprints

like the craters of the moon.

it never rained.

and she didn't speak
and i didn't speak

and we didn't get drunk

but we did learn

that straight rum
doesn't taste
very good.