Fachinger Brew Poem by Michael Witkowski

This crate full of bottles-
water mild to the stomach-
your smile that mirrors you
tolerates only that-
but you churn out smoke
grin, red and black
is it disgusting to serve
the community- do you
feel a servant- carrying
toilsome objects to your
group- If you put your
short-time pleasure aside
and make your muscles
scream and hurt
This water, a cool fluent
breath afterwards-
rewards you not? better
serve up bubbling sour
clear brew for basic joy? !
forsooth, you are weak.