I have too much of it in my fridge.

I have V-8 but no vodka.

My wife has White Claw. 

I would rather drink spit. 

I had gummies. She ate them.

All I have is PBR, 

but luckily, 

I have my ten-year-old Bose radio.

So I take out my antiquated Vivaldi CDs.

Technology has passed me by, laughing, 

but I don’t know enough about it to care.

I listen to Four Seasons.

I want there to be Five Seasons. Six Seasons.

I want all of them to rage with a fire so hot it could kill angels!

I want to be God! 

God can drink the craftiest of craft beer.

God can mix existence with V8 

piss it out 

and call it eternity!

But I’m not good enough, 

or smart enough, 

and people don’t like me,

so I can’t be God.

All I want is a different type of beer. I’m really that easy.

And

I’m really 

just a heartbeat away

from saying, I’m out. 

PBR and White Claw and no weed,

not even a fucking dog to keep me from dying.

---

David Centorbi is a writer who in the 90’s earned an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona. Now, he is writing and working in Detroit, MI.

His manuscript, The Eloquence of Departure, was the 2023 James Tate Poetry Prize winner and was published by SurVision Books, 2024

He is also the author of  Landscapes of You and Me, (AlienBuddha Press, 2001)

After Falling Into Disarray (Daily Drunk Press, 2001)

He can be found here on Twitter: @DavidCaCentorbi.

Blog: davidcentorbi.blogspot.com