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Click hereChair tilted at forty-five
back against the wall
two hundred brands behind the bar.
St. Pauli Girl my sixty-eighth
wasted vacation or job just begun.
Fraulien empty, order again
Carolina Blonde dressed in amber
longneck glistening in the neon.
Nectar parts these lips,
My Heart Explodes!
Killer thunderclap deafening only me.
All is gone...except,
an epitaph worth reading:
'he died doing 69,
a FINE Carolina Blonde'.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,000 poems.
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I am slow had to read it twice, trying to imagine typical 69 while leaning back on a bar stool lol I think I strained my neck