Patron Silver

Like liquid lightning slipping down my throat. Just the smell intoxicates, leaves me in anticipation. Salivation. Indignation that I have to wait to tilt the shot glass toward my lips. Salvation as it clouds my tongue clear. As its silvery threads arc across my tongue and slide ever so slowly down my throat. Tongue searches in vain for trickles of lightning dew remaining in the glass. Hand reaches for neck of bottle and crashes another sliver of silver into the slippery sieve. And the storm surges again.

Under construction

I feel like my life is posting big orange signs. I have to slow my speed so I don't hit any of the workers, which represent different ideas, various imagined futures I have lined up for myself. I have tossed these futures into the air and am waiting, hard-hat and all, for them to fall into the proper place.
Should I work at a winery, have a baby, start a franchise, work at a college, pursue an MFA, work for a non-profit, clean our house, or sit at home hoping to become a published author? For now, like highway 80, construction is stalled until June 13th, when I shall become a free vessel, unhitched from my current job as a teacher, and ready for a daring adventure. Watch out for the cones.