Found Beer Poem by William L Roberts

Found beer! found beer!
How I love my found beer!
Sometimes frozen, sometimes hot
Mostly flat, seldom a lot.
Depending on how it lands
Sometimes a few swallows,
Sometimes only a sip.
Yet when I find a can,
I feel the thrill
Of the old-time hunter gatherer.

Some cans I find along the shoulder
Thrown from cars by guys
Homeward bound from work.
Though they should know better
Still I'm their grateful debtor.

Some I find in the woods by the lake
Tossed by kids on a bender.
One kid, as a joke, pissed in his
And left it for a friend.
I tasted it by mistake.
I made sounds like the cops
And chased them through the woods.
Some I tripped in poison ivy,
Some I tangled in a bog,
Some weren't rescued till the morning
When police, family and neighbors
Came out looking.

The best're from a neat old lady,
Herself a confirmed white-wine drinker.
Some days she leaves a pair of Bud Lites
On either side of a gravestone,
Excellent full, fresh, cold ones,
Tasting of the sad zest of life.
I watch her when she returns
And looks at the empties,
Set just as she left 'em.
Though she knows it's just kids, messing with her,
Still somewhere, she feels a stupid hope
That her husband hasn't completely left her.