Something and Nothing

I remember the time I sat at the end of the bar
waiting for you to come. I waited so long,
long enough to think you were not coming.

I had just finished my first drink when you
walked through the doors. You said you were
sorry for running so late. Don't worry about it,

I said. Well, I'm pretty sure that's what I said.
The voices of that busy night became a steady
chatter of indistinct drunkenness easily ignored.

We lost hours to drinks and talk. Our honesty
came easy but grew quicker with each empty
glass. What were doing that night?

Drinking. Talking. Drinking. Talking. Ignoring
everything until the next day. Was our talk
small? Was it too big? Or was it just right?

We had to leave so we left. What did we leave
in those empty glasses? Maybe a sliver of ice,
more likely, nothing at all.