Tasting Notes

A love letter to a discontinued rum.

As glass and liquid swirl and palm trees sway,
The sand turns dark, rain pelts a canvas roof.
You pour, the label tactfully proclaims:
Hampden Estate, Jamaica, Overproof.

The patrons have all gone, the days are wet.
The desk girl who takes calls and works the bar
Is sleeping at her post with curls that drape
A waterfall around her, thick as tar.

The smell is fruits and tropics, overripe.
A summer dipped in pungent gasoline.
Then pineapple long past any ‘sell-by’
With strawberry and hints of grenadine.

The taste is bright and frightful, almost gay,
But opens up to figs and roasted notes.
A buoy sweeps and bobs (perhaps in drink)
To creaks and sighs of lonely tourist boats.

The desk phone rings, our girl wakes with a start.
The clouds dry up, and calm is soon regained.
I leave my bottle with her, then head out,
To feel what new sensations I've obtained.

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