His third beer paid off all his debts.
But those scattered husks took out another loan.

His fourth put that argument behind him.
But the casings below were already beginning

to express opinions different from his own.
By his fifth ale, he was no more a failure

than the rest of the crowd in that stinking bar.
But he kept eating peanuts, and dropping shells.

The more the liquor cleaned things up,
the more he made a mess of everything.

The beer glass was bottomless.
But there was no broom in sight.

© John Grey