king of beers, with
horses trotting through snow
men holding cans
red and white
etched on coolers, on
tap handles, pulled by
bartenders, all over this
land, we love to
drink it up, cold
those majestic bubbles
eventually go stale sitting in
plastic red cups, or on
stained shoes, missed drips
unsteady moments, swerving
to get home
no, not royalty
but it can rule us
this little liquid
we love it so
Daniel W. Polk 