Three short lines, and a joke tucked inside them. The title promises enlightenment, the big spiritual prize, but the poem delivers a person sitting with a glass of gin and ice. The speaker talks as if this is serious work: "my inner business" sounds like a vow or a calling, something a monk might say about meditation. Then the last two lines bring it down to a cocktail.
What makes it work is that the speaker isn't entirely kidding. "To stay present" is real advice from mindfulness traditions, and the poem lets a quiet evening drink count as a version of it. Paying attention to the clink of ice and the sharp taste of gin is, in its way, being here now.
The mood is dry, wry, and a little lonely. There's contentment in it, but also a hint of retreat, as if the speaker has swapped big answers for a small, reliable comfort. The poem leaves it to you to decide whether that's wisdom or just a good excuse.