Cabernet

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Kristina DiTargiani

 

He’s un quarter French and calls himself Cabernet.

All cowhide jackets and cigarette ash, dusted 

Jeans cuffed at the ankles over thrifted Martens.

His voice crackles like a World War II documentary

When he says my name across the Dinner table. 

 

He lights every wick on the candelabra. Wax drips

Over rims of brazen candle holders with carved Cherubim.

I excuse myself to the Romanticism Restroom where 

Oil-painted ladies in gold leaf frames watch me on the toilet.

Lancôme under-eye cream remains unused on the alabaster

Sink like the rest of the items in his European and 

Japanese skincare collections.

 

When I return, Cabernet has poured into the Tiffany 

Crystal wine glasses a generous share of Merlot.

The flavor is light and flowery with hints of raspberry and

Vanilla. Black polished fingernails scratch at his artist’s

Stubble, and all I want is a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. 

 

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Kristina DiTargiani is in the class of 2027 and is from Old Bridge, NJ. She writes, “I became inspired to write this poem after a nighttime rendezvous to the liquor store and Googling the differences between Cabernet and Merlot in between the aisles.”