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To drink beer and dance
by John-michael HatchA bad morning soon quenched
by the sweet taste of
lager, evenings victory.
Oh how the golden
brew cools my
parched lips.
The day begins, always,
strapped to the cold chair
of a cubicle, devoid of
passion, straining against the
mind. The goal is plain in my
sight, that amber ambrosia.
The boys, and I, seek the confines
of the local pub, the music
alight with the celtic passion
of Heaney's day. The drumbeats
alight a rythym within, moving
my feet.
I know that to drink, especially
when I have to work tommorow, has dire
consequences, but they are thrown
to the wind. The hangover next morning
is my Red Badge, to commerate those times
of alcohol driven merriment. 05/24/2009 Posted on 05/24/2009
Copyright © 2025 John-michael Hatch
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