No one avails a beer bottle
The way you do, honey. The way
You do, honey, she says, you know
Its hardness, its wetness, its threat
To a witness. She says. No one
Rides high on it and beats his wife
With it until she begs him to
Do her, undo her; until she
Tastes like malt head, hops body, blood end,
Hints of rotting wood and unpoured
Gasoline.