there is a big brown bottle of beer.  bubbling beautifully when bestowed upon a beer glass.  today’s temps tip toward tedious: 95 in the shade.  the suds are salivatingly slick on my tortured, tropically torpid tongue.  i quaff quantities quickly, 10 oz, 16 oz, 20…  the glass glissens and gloats: i am a beer glass, fill me, you fuck.  I pour perfect pints, pound pristine product, aerating my posterior pointedly: the AC turned to 11.  the fluid flows, the feelings fluctuate.  half has held me, half will have to hold me.  a grill grins, charcoal coals cloistered in cardboard brown bags, begging beautiful ignition.

spring skips to summer, subliminally.