Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Brief, Bad Poems Inspired By The Encounter Of A Potent Symbol Of the Past


Sitting on the ground
Empty forty of O.E.
Hurling in remembrance


Forty of O.E.
Almost empty but not quite
I should take a sip
Reed scroungers unite
It's punk rock, yo.


Oldee English booze
Hope you had fun with that now
And did not pass out
Like me that one time
passed out singing.

Why did you not drink
Those last ten ounces, Bill?
Then again, I sympathize
O.E. is some swill.
I understand the backwash
is likely to appall.
Still, respect The Forty, poser
Next time drink it all.


Anonymous said...

Curiously, Rachel, as I just now happened upon your poems about drinking 40s, by sheer coincidence 1.73 inches of malt liquor now remain in the bottom of my current receptacle. As you may perhaps be aware, I have long been of the opinion that all the most virulent and transformative elements of a 40 show a pronounced tendency to conglobulate in the final few, warm centimeters of swill at the bottom, thus rendering partial 40 consumption a mere futile and masochistic pursuit, and rewarding the true seekers with multiple, effulgent detonations of bliss upon completion of the grim task. Perhaps this is why the Chinese prefer their pee-Jee O warm. Whatever the case, let me now absorb those few, jaundiced millimeters. Cheers-Dave

robbay said...

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