poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “beer”

putting down a few with the dead

there is nothing riding on this game
but I’m watching it anyway
on a hot summer’s day along with
bukowski & harry caray
and some woman
I don’t recognize

of course harry had already
seen this game
by virtue of special permission
while hank consumed two beers
for every one of ours
repeatedly asking the woman
for her name

after a while she became
irritated that he couldn’t remember
and so the pretty dead lady
walked out of our lives
just like that

no questions asked

july two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Talking in your sleep

It was a nothing fancy afternoon
hanging out at Bob & Tom’s

I brought Shirley with me
and promptly let her out in the
fenced in backyard

The boys were in the kitchen
brewing beer and making sausages
loosely following instructions
from YouTube videos

They were sipping on Rhinelanders
as they worked away
one of them grinding lamb and pork
the other mashing grains

What made you decide to do this today
I asked while reaching for a
Pabst Blue Ribbon in the fridge

I had a dream last night Bob said
and Tom told me all about it this morning

september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

redundant by day and night

checking and rechecking for updates
going on twenty-four hours now
can’t seem to connect to the server
so I reboot and try again
reboot and try

in the background
memory reminds me lab work
is scheduled at eight a.m.
fasting time is twelve hours
but pints of ale in the fridge
keep calling my name
keep calling
my name

taking a break
I check my vital signs
blood pressure check
heart rate check
body fat better recheck
pop up window says
could lose a few pounds
lose a few pounds

this dog on my lap is dying
not enough room to be updated
not enough memory
not enough sleep
rustic technology rewiring my framework
keeping me up past midnight
rebooting and tipping tall boys
rebooting and tipping
tall boys

december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve

out on work release

I had this vision I would bring
cold beers to prison workers
paving county roads
temperatures exceeding
one hundred degrees fahrenheit
bright orange shirts drenched in sweat

I had parked in the shade half an hour
before quitting time
kept the pickup idling with the AC on
beers in the truck bed
iced down in the big red cooler
ballgame streaming on AM radio

july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

chocolate chip porter

I don’t have an agenda
and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna
make one up now

in the kitchen a five gallon
pot is rapidly boiling wort down
to a targeted original gravity

the house is empty
not counting myself and
year-old kitten named napoleon
who understands beer making
is all about unruly patience

just before sparging I pretend
I’m tugging on a cigarette
blowing imaginary smoke rings
jamming to new rock blaring from
vintage panasonic radio

temperature and timing are
critical to the process
but like previously mentioned
there is no agenda
(hidden or otherwise)
only an overt desire to create
reinventing age-old recipes

october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

so I left for a pint and never did come back

this cough’s been bothering me for a long time
and I can tell it’s bothering others too
but they don’t say a word

they think something must be wrong with me
because of the cough

after a few days
I start trying to disguise it in ways indescribable

they sent me away with orders not to return without
proof that the cough is gone for good

march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

beer cans and forget-me-nots

the beer cans used to be blue or
but now they’re gold with a splash
of lavender…it’s all very confusing

I went to the grocery store to purchase
some stamps and a lottery ticket
and pick up a twelve pack of that
beer in gold cans and
lavender lettering

when I got home and walked into the house
(by way of the garage)
the dog stared at me from my favorite chair
his ears lit up like some stupid jack rabbit

oh son-of-a-bitch I say to the jack rabbit
I forget to pick me up
some of that damn beer

august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

let the weekend begin

everyone I know is getting older
and some are even dying without
a moment’s notice
never getting a chance to say
good-bye sweet world

in the grocery store I ran into Joe
and asked him how his wife was doing

she’s gone man where have you been

I’m sorry I say and walk away

out in the parking lot everyone is
a ghost of their former selves
systematically going about their lives
running out of bright ideas
to reverse the inevitable

but not me I am perfectly fine
no wrinkles on my face
a rosy glow still on my cheeks

I tell myself this is the last time
I’m going shopping here
and I rev up the engine and
drive my case of american pale ale
back home where we belong

august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

I dream alone

I swear I was wide awake
and drinking heavily
toasting george thorogood
and his glorious destroyers

we polished off the pony keg
a few hours before
moved on to bourbon and scotch
knowing there was more
rhythm and blues to be heard

later into the night we
found ourselves securely insane
in the backseat of an orange
nineteen sixty-seven mustang

we pretended to be carrying contraband
deep inside enemy lines

halfway across the centennial bridge
we empowered the traffic
to stop (with our minds)
and I jumped and shouted obscenities
and escorted my party to the other side

scaling the eight foot tall fence
I swore I was on top of the world

(reaching back I surrendered my weapon)

free of such burden I would soon realize
I always dreamed alone

september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

happy hour

I felt like stepping out
but didn’t want to drink alone
so I texted Tommy to give me a call
but my phone lay silent

goddamn son-of-a-bitch

I powered up my new HDTV
but nothing was on
so I turned it off
and checked my phone again

nada – nothing – zip

I paged through my contacts
and speed dialed Randy
then Billy and then Reggie G
but nobody picked up

I walked into the kitchen
and opened the refrigerator
but I had forgotten to replace
the lamp and couldn’t see shit
but I reached in anyway

june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the mind reader

I lost my way along the way
and wound up in a tavern
I never knew existed

I ordered a dark beer
and sat alone
wondering how it was
I had found this place

there were so many things
I meant to get done that day
but nothing seemed to be working
so I wandered out of the city
looking at nothing in particular
and daydreaming
about all the things I had done

once finishing off the pint of beer
the bartender
poured me another without
either of us saying one word

may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

billy loved apple pie

billy died on a sunday
and he never did get a proper
burial. fact is, nobody
knew exactly what happened
to his remains.

a bunch of his buddies
decided to get together one day
and followed a funeral procession
on foot. they were well equipped
with beer on ice
and hash under glass,
not to mention a few packs of smokes.

when the preacher finished
anointing the grave
with oils and incense,
someone beyond the bushes
cracked a joke
about how billy used to love
to smell his finger
after he’d got some.

nobody was ever sure
who really got buried that day,
but everyone knew
soon there would be pie.

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

cheers to the minor league siren

it was a sunday afternoon
and me and my gal sat at the bar
tipping pabst blue ribbons
while across the street
the crowd gathered into the stadium
for a doubleheader matinée

the flat screens hanging on the walls
aired most of the afternoon games
the sound muted by the country music
streaming from the jukebox

look my gal said pointing at one of the games
templeton is pitching for saint louis
i used to let him screw me you know

he played across the street
when he was just a baby she said
and i took him under my wing
and taught him a thing or two

yeah right i said
you’re dreaming again
holding two fingers up across the bar

my ass holds secrets you cannot imagine
she said and then lifted her glass
just above her still seductive eyes
waiting for me to do the same

march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

something’s missing

i searched everywhere
for the button
that fell off my favorite jacket
but i just couldn’t find
the damn thing

it was as if the world
was testing me
to see if i would dare go out
wearing such a beautiful jacket
with a button missing

i opened the refrigerator
and there stood
a dozen pale ales suggesting
i drop the needle and thread
and let the button go

january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

history repeats itself

it’s another cold day
but it’s not like i don’t need an excuse
to stay below in the cave
like some recluse
who doesn’t have a clue
what’s going on
in the world

there’s nothing out there
for me
except gas stations
and the grocery store
where i go incognito
to buy cases of beer
and cat food

there’s no sense in buying
a newspaper
because i know
it just regurgitates
the horrors
of this world
repeating itself
day after bloody day

i write letters to old friends
hoping they are alive
to read them
and let them know
to hell
with the high school

december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

my dear friend beer

i am never alone
as long as beer
is nearby
whether she be
in the refrigerator
or at the corner store

after a long day at work
i try to recall
the night before
wonder if any beer
is left before i stop
to buy some more

at happy hour
my friends say
final final final
as we clank
our frosty mugs
to toast another round

when life is less bright
i cry in my beer
and swallow my tears
but when life is grand
i raise my hand
to give praise with a beer

some say heaven
there is no beer
but i say
to hell with that
please bury me
with six pack in hand

august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: