sticky mess

There’s this sticky mess of beer on the ground
and I try to think of a time
when I could write a poem
with no effort or thought
and I had the words
for this sticky mess of beer on the ground

It’s a puddle with no substance anymore
no purpose anymore but to wash away
with piss and shit
to end up in the ocean somewhere
getting the fish drunk

And I hear people apologizing
for the sticky mess of beer on the ground
I smile and hear them but I’m not listening
I stare at the spilled sticky mess and
think about how I don’t have
the words to describe it