Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.119.164.249

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

As I took my initial sip of beer
in that dusky bar on that rainy 
night in Amsterdam,
I forgot about Van Gogh 
and the canals and tulips, 
and was right back in Smithtown.

The first beer I ever drank
was with my friend Will 
when we were thirteen. 
Our mutual buddy worked 
as a dishwasher at Angelo’s 
and somehow managed to 
stash a six pack of Heinekens 
next to the dumpster 
when he took the trash out back 
during a Saturday night shift. 
Will and I hid behind
one of the long Cadillacs in the 
restaurant’s black parking lot 
and snatched the prize 
once the coast was clear. 
Instead of drinking them that night, 
we buried the green bottles 
in Will’s mother’s flowerbed 
and decided to meet after school 
on Monday to pop them open.

I rode my ten-speed over 
to Will’s two days later and 
then like two thirsty pirates, 
we exhumed our treasure. 
We wiped off the dirt 
and each drank two green bottles 
under the pale blue afternoon  
sky in the backyard. 
Will’s mother wasn’t due home
for a few hours and we sat with 
our tepid beers on the back stoop. 
I held my bottle by its neck as if 
I was posing for a magazine ad 
and sipped from it like I’d seen 
uncles do 
at family barbecues. 

Before I left to go home for supper, 
we ate Oreos to mask our breaths. 
My head was a little muddy 
as I pedaled home and I prayed 
that my parents wouldn’t know 
what I had done.

Whenever I see the Heineken 
red star logo on a tap handle
or the iconic green neon 
burning in a bar window,  
the memory of my baptism 
to beer with Will after school
is unearthed and  
I can picture the black soil,
and the emerald glass, 
and taste the Oreo cookies 
and encroaching adulthood.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required