Beer

I feel the cold can in my hand,
dripping with sweat,
and it comforts me in a way
that nothing ever has.
As I bring the amber liquid to my lips
I close my eyes, and ready my mind for the change about to come.
An hour later
five cans lay about the blue, shag carpet;
Some still dripping with the magic nectar.
The slit of my eyes gives me enough reflection
to see that
nothing has changed.
Everything remains the same.
I sink into the chair
and feel the weathered fabric as it burns my skin.
As I drift away, I wonder how I'm going to get four more dollars
to keep this facade from falling.