No college weekend is complete without
burgers, beers, and brouhaha at Teddy’s.
The polished dark oak bar serves twenty ounce
bowls of draft, Pabst, Strohs, or Iron City.
Drinking that much beer emboldens us
to push our point of view. As we come in
to the bar LBJ is on TV addressing us.
“My fellow Americans….”, he begins.
His hound dog face weeps exhaustion. He drones
on about the need to send in more troops.
We sit in a booth in back by the pay phone
and vent our displeasure at his bad news.
The kitchen sources a stream of thick burgers.
Their pocked surfaces brimmed with blood
and globules of fat resemble the mangled cadavers
of the boy soldiers who had been inducted
for lack of an educational deferment.
Each banquette is graced by a lighted
beer logo illuminating our argument.
Our sign is chipped in one corner. It vibrates
and buzzes, as if awaiting a spark to explode.
We disagree over whether to serve if drafted.
Fate will force us to decide down the road.
After food and drink we become more placid.
It’s time to return to our backlog of unread texts
and unfinished papers unsure of what we’ll do next.
