The poet had fallen from a brown stool,
bar mongers had just broken out in insidious laughter;
She pushed the glass intimidating testosterone, and
the valley of her back-neck
searched corners for fit company.
None found,she called for a shot.
Her descending eyes met the lying man.
He got up.
Amidst all this drama,
alcohol,’you and me’ talk
the poet named her, “Abigail.”