For Some Dudes, on PBR and Gutter Punk Bands

Spun froth gold to the working man,
the drunk or ungenerous man
and his frontclothes of poverty–

all things in this metaphor must sparkle,
seek to counterfeit in words
the warmth of fork tines
lightly in the stomach.

Carrion luck bands rove the drink,
sailors of Huck Finn daring
upon a scratched and sketchy redoubt
perched cranially above a banjo

they all cradle PBRs in the crooks of arms,
finally caring

paternally leering at the world going by.

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