Auld Lange Syne’s End of Set by Maryfrances Wagner

That last shot of tequila induces
head spins in the parking lot, makes us
wish for Tuesday or take backs.

We wake to the unfamiliar, learn the art
of exit, face the red-eye drive past car
wrecks, cross icy bridges of thought.

Last words spurt forth, microbursts
ugly as cold sores, cause for signing
papers, clearing out drawers.

In twenty years, they’ll roll their eyes
when we knit, wonder if winter’s,
darkness exhaled us whole.

We wave sparklers on the home lawn,
let the New Year slide in early with
stories we trade like sports cards,

stories we can choose,
more butter each year,
smooth and full in the mouth.

We lift the wine toast reminder,
that hint of black cherry,
that crisp structured finish.

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