Beer

by Molly Walker, 2000

Isn't there anywhere
in this whole goddamned
place where my pathetic
little, underaged ass
could get a drink?

Oh sure, I could
get my hands on
some fat green buds
a whole hell
of a lot easier,
but that's not
what I want tonight.

I don't want to smoke
myself into oblivion.
I don't want to shoot
Jack or Vodka or Tequilla.
I just want to spend
this miserable rainy night
in some crowded bar
drinking beer.
Domestic- none of that
imported crap for me.
Not tonight.

Tonight I'd just like
to sit around drinking
that crap that
tastes like piss
first thing in the morning
and lament
all of my good fucking luck.

I was so damned lucky
to be rid of you
before the shit
hit the fan.

And I didn't lose my mind.
And I didn't go for broke.
And I kept up that perfect
four-point-oh
grade point average.

And now you live back
at home because you
have to.
And I live by the beach.
And I'll get a job soon.
And I'll get my hot rod
and my degree and
my eight million dollar
ranch in Montecito.

Oh, and what luck to find
this great guy
who thinks I'm perfect.
We both know I'm
no where near, but
we'll let him go on
thinking it if he likes.

So if you don't mind,
please just get me
a couple of beers
so I can get busy
and not get on
with the rest of my life.