It was bitter and cold
the tongue
gradually
conformed,
It lasted a while,
the taste dissolved.
I need to take one more,
quench
for some parched soul.
The lips
lingerered
upon the lid
of an empty bottle,
The fingers
hold tightly
refused to throw away
the receptacle in a bin
I guess all it yearns
was a warmth
of another palm,
that bitter
and cold
containing,
empty beer can.



—Pender, Olive