Calavera for the bartender

PARA EL CANTINERO

With pick and hammer he broke
Ice like bones
Into glasses of liquor;

With his radius and ulna
Connected to the humerus tap-handle,
The liquid flows into a glass labeled 'craft.'

His life was a dedication
To quality liquids poured down throats—
Now we pour drinks into him,

Screwing a handle into parietal and occipital:
A mug from a calavera

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This was a satirical jab at cocktail culture when I wrote it; but in the pandemic, this now feels a bit more like an homage to me. Pouring one out for all the walking calaveras in the service industry, keeping that brew flowing even in the face of death. 

My family is South American- so, there's not a real overlap with Mexican culture; but, I love Dia De Muertos for both its meanings and aesthetic. I came across a loose form from this event, The Calavera, a satirical poem often mocking a popular celebrity or fad. It's usually short, and it usually transfoms the subject into bones by the last line, as a kind of memento mori backhand. 

I tried it out once, almost seven years ago, and this poem was the result, first published in the CSUS literary journal, Calaveras Station (when I had just enrolled, before I became an editor, and later, exec. editor), and then reprinted in Medusa's Kitchen. I don't know that I'd write a whole cycle of these but I think this one isn't too bad. And I've had a glass, skull mug hanging at my pub for a few years so I still feel close to this one. And while I'm out of the retail and the service industry, I carry those years in my bones.

The calavera pictured above was gifted to me by my partner, a handmade work of art acquired at Sol Collective.