Newport Beach, California

In the embrace
of the best Scotch
I’ve ever had
in the Four Seasons Hotel
in Newport Beach, California;

a perfect measure drawn neat
into a brandy snifter.
One hundred seventy five dollars a glass,
purchased on a rich man’s dime.

I catch the crawl
on the muted lounge TV
telling me that Kurt Cobain
has died.

“What the hell did he have
to be depressed about?”
says one of my companions,
and I take a swig, not a sip,
and mumble,

“You wouldn’t understand…”

I notice the rich man
turning his eyes down,
looking into the gold
rapidly disappearing
from his own glass.