Blame the Beer
.
Blame it all on warm beer
at the stoplight.
The inside of my skull throbs
with the drone of tired traffic.
And windshield wipers whine
with my CD's old rock metallic.
Then, jolting my line of vision,
is a strapping, suspicious cop.
His clipboard and pen, enough
to make my sour hiccup stop.
Blame it all on warm beer
at the stoplight.
.
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