Tuesday, June 7, 2022

In Praise of Hendricks

I love you on the rocks.

I love you mixed with orange and bitters.

I will even sip you straight.

Clear as winter runoff in Spring,

clear as small-town tap water

distilled, pure and smelling of mineral—

but you have your own lingering smell

of juniper and herb, shocked by fermentation,

its product measured with proof.

I drink you at the hotel bar for $12 a glass,

I drink you on the sofa in the blinking light of the TV,

in my lawn chair in the yard, or on a friend’s back porch.

At 5pm, you squelch the madness

of another doldrum day and by midnight

you remind me I’m not so young.

Whether served or mixed in my kitchen

there's no contest when presented

with a Pepsi challenge, I choose you

by fragrance alone, no other spirit

will do. Tonight, I reach for ice and bottle,

nod at the clink in my rocks glass

swirl before taking a sip.


Trish Hopkinson is a poet and literary arts advocate. You can find her online at SelfishPoet.com and in Colorado, where she runs the regional poetry group Rock Canyon Poets, curates Poetry Happens for KRCL 90.9FM, and is a board member of the International Women's Writing Guild. Her poetry has been published in several magazines and journals, including Sugar House Review, Glass Poetry Press, and The Penn Review; and her fourth chapbook Almost Famous was published by Yavanika Press in 2019. Hopkinson happily answers to labels such as atheist, feminist, and empty nester; and enjoys traveling, live music, and craft beer.