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.