The Cross of Beer

The Cross of Beer

was technically not beer anymore
because the brew had already been
processed bravely through my bladder.

First I wrote my name in the snow
and then with my steaming pencil
I drew the Cross—and as I stared
at it I felt some pangs of guilt, until
my rolling laughter exorcised them
as I dipped my delicious donut deep
into my Budweiser, and then sucked
out the wonderful essence.

Glenn Buttkus March 2010