Travis Stephens

Travis Stephens is a tugboat captain who lives and works with his family in California. His book of poetry, “skeeter bit & still drunk” was published by Finishing Line Press. Visit him at: zolothstephenswriters.com

BEER BOTTLES AT NIGHT & THE DOG

stumble from bed in the night
stumbling, fumbling at the toilet
the Dog
she says “You shouldn’t drink so much.
“Your breath is nasty, you know.”

“But I’ve seen you eat garbage,” is my response.
“Plus the way you lick yourself.”
The Dog yawns.

I went to kitchen for a glass of water.
On the counter a brown bottle
backwash amber beer
another empty with it.
It was my attempt at Brown Mild,
yeasty, malty, a caramel sweet.
Unlike the American hopped up ales,
redolent of pine and citrus or piss.

“Something a cat would like,” I tell
the Dog. “Goddamn IPAs.”

She ignores me
closes her eyes with
a most dramatic sigh.
I am tempted to fire up the vacuum,
chase her through the house
until she stumbles onto the back porch
of empties, tinkle pinkle rattle spill.
Dead soldiers.

Refills for the next batch. I think I will
go for a Bitter, a red hued deep draught
of six row malt and chocolate roast.
English hops and ready in six weeks.
Which yeast to use?

“You should get a dog,” the bottles say.
“Stop talking to yourself.”