Capacity

I spent forty dollars to lean against this wood

and watch the ice cubes melt into the gin.

I thought if I held the glass, I’d be understood,

or at least look like I belonged in my skin.

A girl in a cropped sweater touched my sleeve.

She asked if I was the owner, if I knew

where the bathrooms were. I wanted to leave,

to fade out of the frame like an old shoe.

I looked down at the rim, at the oily smudge

where my thumb had left a mark upon the clear.

I am the only one here old enough to judge,

and the only one who feels like a souvenir.