Bottled root beer tastes like summer.
The kind I used to spend
on Kelley’s Island as a kid with
bicycles and put-put,
ice-cream cones too big and
beach trips that stretched
the length of a road too long.
The kind of summer that doesn’t end
but rather lasts too long
in the June-heat and lake-splashes - filled with laughter
from siblings who still haven’t grown old enough yet
to think twice about laughing with their younger brother.

Bottled root beer is sweet
with condensation and sweat -
sweet reminders on my tongue
that though it tastes of memories,

that makes it taste all the sweeter.