Not Madison Avenue,

North Shore Milwaukee.

No Cadillacs or town cars,

Station wagons and Saabs.

Not a high rise or Long Island plush,

but a Frank Lloyd Wright esque

sloping 70’s grand

no sidewalks, few stop signs

silence –

Our backyard a forest

with a secret path lining the south side

armed with Lilies of the Valley

the smell sticking to my shirt like a burr

as I run in the side door

out of breath

to find you alone with

a crystal clear Martini

one olive floating at the top

like a green buoy

and I got to suck out the juices

when it hit

the bottom.