before he clears our free olives,
before we’ve finished our cervezas,
before we go to bed after walking eight miles,
i hold my hand up.
“Ah, sí, toma… el último es el mejor”
and i pop onto my tongue
the tangy, peppery, almost-sweet blend
i’ve waited five years to relive,
knowing i’m nowhere near Minnesota–
i’m in Spain, where we save the best for last.
