Vers libre for a pint of Guinness.
-jeff absher

Oh.. My Goodness.
The deep, dark color of burnt cork
freshly pulled, sits under the spout
and I wait...willing to give of my own blood for the
pleasure about to be provided.

The barmaid, dressed for tips, grasps the tap
and slowly pulls the last third.
As the liquid peaks, she gently jiggles the glass for the cause
scribbling an icon on the head.
And I wait...fumbling for for a fiver and change to garner 
her favor for the evening.

Roasted Barley and Irish grain,
It's good for you.
A perfect imperial pint with magic flowlines
of miniature bubbles forming a surreal earthbound cascade.
And I wait...focusing for a smooth transfer of the glass from her
expert hand to mine.

SETTLE! I silently scream to the pint.
And I wait...the cascade concludes.

I sip, and the impression of my lips is left on the blonde icing.
I gulp, and the cream crawls down the
glass, bubbles sparkling like diamonds in quicksand.
Psychedelic rings form as I work my way thru.
It's Ice Cream, cake, Chocolate Milk, and beef,
Four ingredients of pure genius.
Too Soon it's over, a lone head
with mere impressions of the journey to the bottom of the glass.
Solace found only in the mantra that a bird doesn't fly with one wing.

When I die, damned or saved, I shall forgo Peter and 
search for James to welcome me at his gate.