By J.S. MacLean
The recipe
never was secret,
even if one ingredient
was never listed.
40 pounds of gin,
all the tequila,
100 oz. of Tang,
with a splash of Grenadine,
all in a tub
with orange lemon lime slices
to suck on
when the liquid was gone.
It wasn’t a Sunrise and only the dregs
ever saw one.
It went well with blotter
bombers and babes,
college boy games
with tricky rules,
and the best pre-disco
cranked fucking loud.
What a rave before raves,
what a buzz! what a hoot!
craving cold beer
as morning came up.
There’s even New Tang now,
but hard to locate is that freedom
between the step from the nest
and the physics of flight.
Clutching at Straws 