When I drink ginger ale,
I think of my grandmother,
who always had ginger ale,
White Zinfandel and leftovers
in the fridge at her house --
the house with the
bamboo in the backyard
and the pool table in the basement,
the house with the fireplace
and long reach matches in the living room,
and the bedrooms that my father and uncles
grew up in upstairs.
When I drink ginger ale,
I remember her contagious cackle
and raise my glass to Grand.
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