Sour (an acrostic poem)

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Scrunching up her face in reaction to sipping the drink

Obviously, it was much tarter than what she was expecting

Uttering a sharp laugh, her partner handed her a sugar cube as an apology

Refusing the cube, she gave it another sip.   It was better this way.

Crisp (an acrostic poem)

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Cider so hard you need a hammer and chisel to drink it

Resulting in puckered lips that would make an Instagram influencer jealous

It leaves an impression on the consumer’s soul

Searing the memory of that tree, that branch, that fruit, that moment

Permanently into your psyche

Spell (an acrostic poem)

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So do you believe in the magic that surrounds you?

Pushing the fantastical into the factual

Enabling imagination to define reality

Letting wonder bloom in the field of drab predictability

Let’s drink deep of this fever dream and cast our fancy into the world

Chilli (an acrostic poem)

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Can’t make it hot enough to please him

He scarfs down whole scotch bonnets for breakfast

I even saw him puree ghost peppers and drink it as a smoothie

Last Superbowl was the topper.  The con carne concoction he brought was pure chemical warfare

Leaving us all to stare in awe and fear as he ate the whole thing without a single sniffle

It did come to no surprise that his intestines eventually got their revenge for his war crimes.

Cider (an acrostic poem)

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Cold pressed apple fluids left outside in a large jug

In the dead of winter the water freezes on top

Driving the flavor into a more concentrated solution below

Each time the blah ice is then removed and the process repeats over and over for months

Rewarded finally with a fermented drink that tasted of sunny autumn days and patience

Cube (an acrostic poem)

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Cognac on the rocks was her drink of choice

Until about three in the morning, then she would bounce to bourbon

Both ice cold, just like the blood in her veins

Especially as she tossed the dice one last time with everything on the line.

Hammock (an acrostic poem)

 

Hanging in the breeze without a care in the world.

As my drink perspires from all the hard work we are doing,

My mind wanders the cosmos.

Making connections that James Burke would be proud of.  (Look him up.)

Only the rustling of leaves and birds doing actual tweets break the reverie.

Can this solace last forever?

Kidding.  Child number two flops onto me, dumping us both onto the ground.

 

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Wrecked (an acrostic poem)

Waves lapped along the shoreline

Reviving Jerod and giving him a shower he desperately needed

Everything must have gone so wrong

Collecting his thoughts he realized he couldn’t remember the night before

Kneeling, he looked around him, trying to jog something loose

Everything suddenly came back.  He couldn’t believe he was so stupid

Don’t drink a whole bottle of scotch you dumbass

 

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