Two Guys, Two Gallons of Yuengling, Two Plastic Jugs

Tongues composed of lager and slathered words drip

turbulence from the roadmaps of mouths, the ocean’s

rock and regurgitation. We meandered along brick-paved

roads with half-amber jugs in our hands, how quickly

we drown but how slowly we swayed on swings

in the frigid, desolate playground at night by the highway,

eyes entranced by the spotlight from the city’s hidden heart

we desire but never find but in the beer’s flat hops like a pair

of clumsy trombonists, asynchronous staccatos and B-flat

scales bottling air from silver mouthpiece to S.O.S–