poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “beer”

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

Towards Davenport’s Ones

We’d buy smokes and tall boys
and fill up the ’69 Tempest
at the Mobile station uphill
from where the Mississippi
runs East and West

Once underneath I-74
we’d hang a right onto Riverside Drive
wind our way towards East Village

The late August sunrays
reflected a lifeline
off the murky wakes and white sails
latching its horizontal eyes
onto the Pontiac
lasering its rims as it speeds
towards Davenport’s ones

september two thousand ten
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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