Lodestar Quarterly

Lodestar Quarterly
Figure reaching for a star Issue 11 • Fall 2004 • Poetry

Drinking Buddies

Steven Cordova

My last ten buys us the first round, your credit
the second, the third .... You're young. You hold
the liquor well. I'm just turned 40
with little in my stomach. Come 9:40
you stand, drunkenly sign the credit
slip, then high-tail it to a phone. "Hold

on," you're saying, "my wife won't mind I'm out
late" -- not since you're only out with me.
I ponder the naïve nature of this trust
sitting here on this stool I've come to trust.
I'm out as queer. Tonight we're out
together. And are you safe? Are you safe with me?

The bartender doesn't seem to mind
my gay-speak or my smile. So I'd say yes
on that count. I'll confess I just checked out your ass
but like you too much to make an ass
of myself. I hope that you don't mind,
that when you read this we'll still be friends. Yes?

Steven Cordova's poems have appeared in Barrow Street, Calalloo, The Cortland Review, Diner, The Journal, Northwest Review and Puerto del Sol, as well as in the anthology Ravishing DisUnities: Real Ghazals in English. His chapbook, Slow Dissolve, was published by Momotombo Press in 2003. He was born in San Antonio, Texas and lives in Brooklyn, New York.

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