Summer of 1994,
The air was the heat of flames,
The sun-kissed leaves spoke seductively to the college students.
Persuaded them to go to the last party before the semester started.
They decided to have their last hoorah,
Even if it meant they’d regret it in the morning.

In the drop top convertible they felt the wind carry them all the way there.
When they arrived the party had already started,
At least it did for the host upstairs. He had already concocted his drink,
His treasure.

He brought it out of the kitchen into the basement in a decorated bowl
On a silver platter and set it on the red tablecloth that gave itself willingly.
His red carpet.

His peers flocked like birds to bread to the tangy, red fruit flavored beverage.
It welcomed them warmly, but eventually they stopped coming to refill.
Overwhelmed by dizziness they rejected the drink.

It screamed at the host, demanded his attention throughout the entire party
But he wouldn’t answer its calls,
Only let it sit there and do its job.
Serve.