Beer

She was the kind of girl with write-ups, in port-a-johns in Vider,
and around the world.
That night she hit on my old man.
And tempers they flared as high as they can.
Fists might be thrown, and hairdoos unfurled.
Why are you throwing yourself at my friend here?
I’m sure there’s an opened window around somewhere.
She looked up at me and then she jumped into the air with the greatest of ease.
I was standing there shaking, my head in my knees.
Next thing i knew, she fell with a thump.
Oh, I owe my health, and happiness it would appear, to a small glass someone
knocked over.
Everyone seemed to look over.
It was a tall full glass of beer.