In St. John's
martinis sport spinning wounds
Each telluric, iron red.
Advanced to drinkers needing anchors
against the sea.
For eleven bucks, the elevated
are spared olives' Gap-ish green
and lounge-sheltered from the peat of Guinness
(now a brochured, tourist's drink).
In the bar Erratic,
tabs cower under Visa gold
while beauties test mirrors,
swirl berries and speak élan.
They swallow short hours of flash,
paled only by vermouth's slight shadow.
And after securing rumour enough,
the night is counted and taxed
by beached collections
of small, cardinal beads.
"Swirl" took third place in Maisonneuve's "Memories of Margaritaville" literary contest. To read the winning entry, check out issue 13, on newsstands through March 10. For information about our current contest, click here.
Bruce Johnson is a writer and curator in St. John's, Newfoundland. His self-professed signs of stigmata were recently exposed as an allergy to rayon.