I remember what I wore that night, and, finally, I've managed to forget your name

I've taken to drinking budweiser—

I've taken to drinking it by the bottle

in hollows and haunts and dives sipping against the florescent lights and the popcorn chatter—

I put a finger to all upstanding red blooded americans 

not in nostalgia but in rubbing my face in prejudice

because, really

the perfect number of budweisers to drink before

riding a mechanical bull

is three

especially if the bartenders

serve in bikinis and chaps and have

shots of jagermeister

in hip holsters

two budweisers is rhythm

balance and increased bravado

three is only

a second, forgettable act