BEATNIK: A Poetry Collection

old brew

I waited for the

beer to get darker,

then I wanted

to go back.

I could never

stand it warm,

right out of

the shed.

and in the summer

I wanted it mild

and ice cold.

just like the

good old boys

used to take it.

I only had a black one

once, and afterward

my tongue felt stained.

it was like Beer had

become a part of me,

engraving it's insignia

atop my buds until it

was all I craved,

morning, day, and night.