I prefer the tart cranberry of truth
juiced till it barely resembles
the original, then diluted with vodka.
Or maybe it’s the alcohol of truth,
cranberry juice splashed in to make saccharine
with color and cliché. Easy to muddle.
I used to pass out at blood drives;
the nurse would give me an Ocean Spray
and let me believe I’d done a mitzvah anyway.
Now I sip cocktails and convince myself the man
cupping his hands around my breasts loves me back.
A cosmopolitan is the most stylish way
to lie to yourself. Believing is the key.
© 2021 Jewish Young Professional