“I Knew We Were In Trouble” by Brett Elizabeth Jenkins

Photography by Mick Davidson

I knew before you even got here, when you called and asked

what kind of beer, what kind of wine, do we need hard liquor?

And I said no but you might want to pick up a bottle of champagne.

I could hear you buying three bottles. I could sense you

picking up the thirty-pack of High Life from beneath the red

lettered sale sign. I knew we were in trouble when we started

on the second  bottle of wine at four thirty (the sun beginning

to go down) then the first bottle of champagne, then the first two

of what would be the next eighteen beers, then when we began

drinking beer from champagne flutes. The champagne of beers!

you yelled, toasting me. We were in trouble when you begged me

to call poison control, ask them what happens if you drink Febreze.

When the man answered, annoyed, told you to wash your damn

mouth out, son. Exasperated, asked for my age, my zip code.

I knew, after we had been drinking for a solid ten hours, that we were

in trouble. We put in Texas Chainsaw, huddled together on the couch,

when you asked me about my boyfriend and I said we were great,

then I kissed you anyway.

Brett Elizabeth Jenkins currently lives and writes in Minnesota. She is the poetry editor at Stymie Magazine and a reader for PANK Magazine. Look for her poems in Beloit Poetry Journal, Potomac Review, elimae, PANK, Neon, and elsewhere.