Anyone for a Beer?
On that silver chalice Sunday,
his thoughts sometimes clunked
upon hearing the sermon after
waking from a black-out drunk.
It had been another kegger
the night before with Mark and Squi,
in their suburb east of D.C.,
where he and his dark-knighted jock friends
apprenticed their male ideal
by jumping on young women.
He studied hard at Georgetown
all week, dreaming of Yale law –
this football playing, hormone-robot
preppy named Kavanaugh.
On weekends, he would break loose –
downing drinking horns of Michelob
while joking of his black-robed
quest to slay Social Security
and leave the minion realm to quaff
their poor cup of misery.
Now, he’s not playing Saturday
night drinking games anymore
or reveling in the beer blast suns
along the Maryland shore.
These days, he’s an agent from
the Federalist Society –
a parasite self-righteously
burrowing into the judicial
system to infect the civil rights
of unprivileged people.
So, he will climb to the high court
and allow industries’ pall
of chemical smoke to suffocate
the skies that once shone on all.
Then when all the televisions
are playing the channel of fake news,
the judge will serve his good friends brews
and they will break into evil cheers
and then toast him – their drinking horns
brimming with gold, Lo-Cal beers.
2018 John Gorski