It starts with the sun shining at half past noon.
Twist off caps and empty cans.
Mists of lagers in my plans.
This lawn chair planted,
My eyes go slanted.
Every sip, I’m more transplanted
into a world unlike this planet.
Warm and glossy, yet disenchanted.
There’s smoke in the air, no one around to share.
I’m back to the basics, sunk in my green chair.
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I see you like to write poems about alcoholic beverages. It’s very interesting how you’re able to find something that’s ordinary and turn it into a literary artwork. Keep up the creativity.