A Bitter Gin Cocktail — A Poem By Chitra Gopalakrishnan


A Bitter Gin Cocktail

I will have to buy a set of rose-coloured glasses to drink my gin and tonic tonight.
I don’t drink gin. Or possess pink-coloured cocktail glasses. 
But you do.
I mean drink gin and possess special pink-coloured Copa glasses, ones shaped like large bowls with wide brims, to increase aromas and enhance the flavour as you educated me.
You have often told me that you prefer the simple gin and tonic over the classic gin martini, among the world’s favoured classic cocktail, and sipping it of a rose-coloured Copa glass.
It takes ‘some doing’, ‘handling ribald comments of being feminine in tastes’, you said, ‘but pink gin in pink glasses is my signature, the way I enjoy drinking it,  so I do it’. 

As I need to drink to you, I will need to do it in the way you do.
With just the right amount of gin and tonic, two ounces of gin to four of tonic, as you have instructed me.
With four-diamond squares of ice cubes that float in the alcohol like icebergs in the sea.
With a dash of your favourite ‘secret’ ingredient Angostura bitters that you have told me is made with sun-ripened sweet oranges to create a rosy, pink hue.
With a wedge of lime that has a swirl at its tail to perch devilishly at the edge of the glass rim.
And, of course, with a thin, long, glass swizzle stick as you prefer your drink stirred not shaken.

Will I feel your breath collapse within me as I put my lips to the glass?
Will the gin and tonic currents eddy and swirl, push and pull as we did in our love?
Will the bitters rouse a stinging warmth in me as you did?
Will the ice pieces, polished like silver, clink and bob against each other as we did?
Will the curls of the lime remind me of how we curled together, drifted into restless sleep only to be touched by a glorious, morning sun?
And will the swizzle stick hold up your need of me?

Yet what infiltrates my evening is not your presence but the lack of it.
Waves of light bounce of the six rose-coloured glasses I have drunk of.
Words we spoke heave and pant off the soulless, empty glasses.
I remain awake with the loss of you.
With a lucidity that tells me you are missing.
And the knowledge that henceforth she is your alibi, the love of your life.

Author : Chitra Gopalakrishnan ©®
All Rights Reserved To The Author

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