Do you remember that old quick stop
(they tell me it's a drug store now)
where we would get our beer each Saturday?

The clerk would ask "The usual?"
even though we were underage
and slip me a can and you a bottle.

I could hold my liquor well.
I always offered to trade with you
but you insisted on the bottle.

We'd drive to a far out field,
the sun giving way to the horizon,
and lie down in the grass.

The can served just enough to get me
buzzed,
but you poured yours out before it was finished-
you might have gotten drunk.

When the sun had set one night
you gave me the news.

I said,
"Put in the effort to tip back
your bottle.
It holds more than you think."

But you were my can.