The plastic bottle of SKOL is nothing
other than an empty piece
of manufactured plastic
that fogged and blurred
his night like rain on a windshield.

The label splits,
and that old fashioned brown
tint spreads throughout the edges. Thrown
on the dirty gravel
under dried up aged leaves that have lost
their color, hidden,
like the words he never told her,
but she ached
to hear. What momentarily made his body
fill with warmth, what made him
stumble down the streets
to her place, what gave him
the confidence to say
those words,
” I want to fight for you”,
now decays alongside
those shattered leaves. Just
left there, never to be
picked up again. It will remain
on those discolored pebbles as
crumpled leaves continue to fall. He indulges
in his new purchase, waiting
for the numbness
to take over his body once again, as
that familiar burning sensation
seeps down his throat.