“I wonder if there’s beer on the sun.” – Crow, MST3K
Not to endorse the possibility outright,
but given the presence in the stellar carboy
of requisite amberness,
dazzling hydrogen froth,
bubbles of gas, and wort
that’s been around since the galaxy first formed,
then lagering the resultant mixture
in the cooler, darker cellars
of maculae spotting the surface…
Voila: beer.
Only trouble is,
before you can quaff your first glass
of fiery-hot brew
(as an aficionado, you know
the complexities of beer are best sampled
when room temperature, right?),
like those other inebriates of the sun,
Phaëthon and Icarus,
knowing when to say “when”
is easily as important as
drinking to your heart’s content.
So here’s to beery moderation,
actinic or otherwise. Meanwhile,
bartender: quick, before
my glass melts, pour me another.
 |
Robert Borski is a retired state employee and lives in Stevens Point, Wisconsin. Though he did not start writing poetry until well into his sixth decade, he has had nearly four hundred of his poems published and in such venues as Asimov’s, Dreams and Nightmares, Star*Line, and Strange Horizons. Two collections of his poetry remain available: Blood Wallah and Carpe Noctem. |