Nightcap

Home late from the Nebraska meeting, 
this city glitters like the heist jewels 
in the movie I just watched seatback. 
Pinballing out of LaGuardia 
in the back of a yellow cab,
the night has me 
a little drunk on the extra 
bottle of Bombay sapphire 
the Delta flight attendant—
sharp in her Zac Posen—
slipped me after she emptied 
a ziplock of swizzle sticks to fill 
with fresh ice for my warming breast milk. 
When this cab stops, 
I’ll collect myself and my receipt,
count my stolen hours,
and climb the stairs 
to my thirsty baby in her crib.