Drinking Alone

by John Hoppenthaler

in the nostalgia
of tequila
a face in the mirror
hung there
corner of my eye
or rather
I thought I
saw the glint of my eye
like when you turn
your head across the night
then double take
because you think
you’ve seen a shooting
star & in that moment
                                                                    the blur
of light is gone &
all you can find there
are fixed stars
blinking


JOHN HOPPENTHALER’s poetry has appeared in Ploughshares, Virginia Quarterly Review, McSweeney’s, Southern Review, Christian Science Monitor, Barrow Street, The Laurel Review, Copper Nickel, Blackbird, and Subtropics, and in many other publications. His essays, interviews, and essay/reviews appear in such journals as Arts & Letters, Southeast Review, Chelsea, Bellingham Review, Pleiades, The Greenwood Encyclopedia of American Poetry, North Carolina Literature, Cortland Review, and Kestrel, where he is served as Poetry Editor for eleven years. He currently edits A Poetry Congeries at Connotation Press: An Online Artifact. He is the author of two books of poetry, Lives of Water and Anticipate the Coming Reservoir, both from Carnegie Mellon University Press.