(This poem is a Cut Up of the first page of my original short fiction “A Fishes Tale.” The short fiction can be read here: https://therichardbraxton.wordpress.com/2016/01/20/a-fishs-tale/ )
Over the keychain of his trusty bottle opener
In the blowing in off the lapping waves
Of lake water in his mid-twenties,
He was drinking a Rusty Nail
Since he had grown up and got a job
(And Drambuie on the rocks
Was the height of sophistication).
Drinking a beer
In the shower,
At least once,
A two piece Miller Light bikini
Walked into the bar.
Scalding heat of the shower
Was a mini vacation,
But she was half naked.
She stopped at his table
And new kids, new job,
And the new mortgage,
That of the guys before
Moving to the next table.
The vacation away from responsibilities.
But he, barely of the bottle opener,
But when he heard
The hiss of debauchery that
Everyone thought was adult life.
Smell the slight hint of perspiration
Over her cold lake side of wild,
Southern California, while
He forgot about the cold
And the light spray of the mist.
He was fully reliving.
His, Rob’s keys jingled as the fumbled:
His fingers and a family of his own.
Rob had made a point
Of predawn chill.
He was given the bottle opener month.
The ice cold beer contrasted
Against the near at the Irish Pub
(He thought that Scotch and on),
In the midst of settling
Into a new life, new wife.
While waiting his turn for karaoke.
A girl, in a precluded the ability…
To take a real extended…
She wasn’t the hottest girl he had seen there.
Barely remembered his college days.
And they talked a little and handed out
Keychains to each life.
But this cold beer
In the cold morning
Out in the Miller Light,
Lettering has long since worn off
While he fished for his own dinner.
This was it.
No, that morning’s first beer.
Popping open, he could glory days.
Cheap floral body spray.
And for a second he forgot.