Straight up
     hard liquor—

          they downed their first
     baby shots once the ball dropped
     at Times Square.

                              Clink!

          And spilling, of course,
fire
     between the lips—and
          the tongues sprouted
                    wings,
          much to the delight of the jaws’
               elation—
made the spines tingle a little.

     Oddly
                    they waited
          for some sweeping wind
                    to clutch
          their spirits in its talons,
and carry them                    off
                              into clear ether,
                    where no hearts can beat them.

No,
          the sky was only carpet.
But     come dawn,
          ten throats stung
          like a pinched match.