Bloody Mary

Remember that time?


When you wound me up
over god-knows-what
so I tipped my Bloody Mary
over your head?

And the celery stick landed so pathetically by your feet
that we had no time to be angry and could only laugh hysterically?


Remember?


Then I ordered
another Blood Mary
and poured it
over my own head?


And those celery sticks crunched like gravel under our shoes
as we moved together to kiss and we were so happy?

“You’ve got tomato juice on your trainers,” I said.
“Well, you’ve got tabasco on your tits,” you replied.

I haven’t ordered another Bloody Mary since.


HLR (she/her) writes poetry and short prose based on her own experiences with mental illness, grief, trauma and addiction. Her writing has featured in Dear Damsels, In Parentheses, Lunate, The Hellebore, and others. HLR was born and raised in north London and is yet to escape. 

Leave a Reply