"pbrs" poems
"You can't always win, L."
he says.
He always says that,
the boy from Ohio with the lopsided grin,
"Sometimes, you just lose..
and that's okay."
Emphasis on the "okay".
Because he knows
that's the one word
I won't hear him say.
He knows this,
because he always says it.
When I tell him,
I don't feel right, where I am.
And it's worked before.
So it should work now,
he thinks to himself.
And perhaps if I were sitting next to him,
like I used to,
in that one room apartment,
in Victorian Village,
I would hear it.
I would hear it,
and it would resonate.
Before he punched me in the arm
and asked if I was done being dramatic,
so we could turn on the game,
because he just got a text that OSU is down by 7,
and he's pretty sure it's because he's not watching..
So I would laugh,
shove him off the couch I got at Goodwill,
and he would grab two more PBRs from my fridge
that only sometimes worked,
and it would be okay.
It would.
Because to the sound of him yelling at Braxton Miller
through the tv
like he could actually hear him,
and the hot summer breeze pouring through the open windows,
it made sense.
What he said,
made sense.
But we're not in that apartment,
and he can't hear how hard my is heart beating
from 700 miles away,
can't see the look on my face
when I tell him I think I'm losing my ******* mind.
Suddenly his voice sounds so far
and so foreign.
And he knows,
he knows it's not working this time
but that's the farthest he ever got
so that's as far as he goes.
And the long pause is deafening.
So in one final act of desperation
he simply says,
"Love you, kid."
And I just say,
"I know."
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
We don’t dance here anymore.
We balance on wobbly stools
and order PBRs with whiskey backs,
sidestepping the looks we tend to give
each other in the mirror behind the bar.
Tonight is Christmas Eve again.
Again, tonight is Christmas Eve.
Reflected in a frosted window
framed by multicolored lights,
our waitress wears a miniskirt
and candy cane-striped tights.
Her laugh rings like the silver
bell of tomorrow’s hangover.
We are not the ones racking
another game of eight-ball
or feeding the jukebox or
tossing darts at the wall.
That’s not us, the hipster couple
exchanging sardonic repartee,
clever tattoos comingling as
they trade kisses in the corner.
Could that ever have been us?
Here is where we *****
it up and tamp it down.
Here is where we wait
for our future to finish
its careful unwrapping.
Here is where we say
thank you and drown,
tangled together in
ribbons of twilight.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
After another 10 hour day, excluding transit
I find myself 2 marijuana puff puff passes
Past the record spinning, and the words of Stevie and Lindsay
Speak past the first brain and well into the second one,
Causing my unconsciousness to sweat and wilt to the sounds of love and tragedy
Another days' end come to a close, as I wind down with a couple PBRs, The sound of the 70's,
And the soon romantic encounter with sleep
The day is,
Waiting for tomorrow
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
I walked in and took my place at the bar waiting a bit impatiently for the bartender. After a few minutes she came I order a pbr and a shot of whiskey. my shot stings going down but I take a large sip of my beer and it sooths. I talk to some people for a bit but I can't help but look for you. I glance at the barstool I know you rest and i see you. From the looks of it this may be your 5th nightcap of the evening. And I'm promised it won't be your last. We meet eyes. You gaze at me the same way I, for you. I walk over and give you an I - miss - you hug. He's familiar will thoes. We jabber on about nonsense and and laugh at the strange curly-haried man dancing in the corner. God I love his laugh. I order a few more pbrs and a couple more shots.. my whiskey curauge has me blurting out if he would like to stay with me after all has closed. He says he's usual answer. And for just a split second I wonder if my options were much better asked after he has had a couple of caps or if he would say yes regardless?.. some days I'm unaware. We leave and it's as if nothing has changed between us. The two of us walk to his place stopping for beer no less. Tipsy as we are were acting very silly skipping around, making strange noises at one another. We just go back to the two free spirited people simply infatuated with one another. And I'm flying in bliss. I sit on the bed and look at him. Memorizing his movments. He moves so beautifly so gracefully. He hands me an IPA, the way he's eyes meet mine is breathtakingly lovely. And in that moment, I could look at this handsome, complicated, loving, courageous man forever.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Trying to get through
This endless pile of papers,
I brew another *** of coffee,
Smoke another cigarette,
Think I might be dying (for good measure)
And close the door.
But all I can think about is you
Out there on the sofa
Under the yellow-and-white afghan
Shooting up and watching that old telenovela
So I give up.
And I grab us a couple of PBRs
And we lay there together,
Talking about your metaphysical journey.
I say something funny
And you go all red
And you hit me so hard
The wind all comes out of my chest.
I'm upstairs on the bed
Crying
And there's eyeliner down past my cheekbones.
And you come in
And you kiss my forehead
And I close my eyes
And I give in.
Waking up with your arm slung over my back
Incense on the table burning down to nothing
Like the remnants of my life,
I can't remember what made me love you.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
Two bros converged into a fellowhood
And stoked to share their Fight Club quotes
And be two broskis, juiced they stood,
And shotgunned PBRs, long as they could,
till they were wrecked in a sweet-ass boat
Then proclaimed the bros, into the air,
“Turn on the flatscreen, let’s watch the game”,
it was Saturday so the day was theirs;
and as they sat in their folding chairs,
the smell of axe the air became
And clad in their Costas they loudly played
a song no bro’s cracked iPhone lacks.
Oh, they know their bops like they know their whey!
They smelled their teen spirits and exhaled away,
JUUL clouds of fruit flavors with swag densely packed.
There is no replacing these two guys
and their dudely jockish fashion sense.
Two bros converged as two would, and aye-
They forged the path bros travel by,
a path of bliss and ignorance.
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 12:09 PM UTC