Skol Super Lager

Regular readers of this blog will be familiar with my liking for various alcoholic beverages, including cider and lager.  My particular passion for some of these drinks has inspired a number of poems, and “Skol Super Lager” is the latest.  When I mention the fact that its alcoholic strength is 9% vol, you may begin to understand some of the references and flights of fancy with which I indulge myself in this poem.

SKOL SUPER LAGER:

Skol the skull-splitter!
Skol the stealer of souls.
Skol the de-skiller, the destroyer,
sealing the spirit with spittle and spume.
Spraying, sozzling, sizzling the synapses.
NOT a drink for a scholar.

The legendary can; its black
and gold livery, glimmering,
clenched in the fists of
countless vagrants.

To sip this muddy amber fluid
is to dip your toes into the delirium
of the down and out.  Sliding into,
sharing in their disordered,
dishevelled delusions.

But you can’t just sip!  You slurp;
you gulp it, voraciously.  The only way
to quench the thirst for self-destruction.
The only way to feel its cold, clammy
grasp tightening around your liver,
sucking you down, joining in the flotsam,
floating in its murky depths.

For what we seek, we Skolars;
we disillusioned, disinherited,
depressed dipsomaniacs; we
bloated, bleary-eyed band
of brothers – what we seek,
as we sink, drowning, not waving;
five-fathoms deep, draining the dregs
of this devilish drink – what we seek
is not enlightenment, but the oblivion
awaiting, over the event horizon.
The annihilating blankness,
the unfathomable mystery
of the black hole at the heart
of darkness.

 

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