A drinking poem by John W. Gorski

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