The Beer Garden

. . . where I climbed a tall stool to wood
perch then peered over amber flora:
my father’s secret world. An aura
glowed above all beer pulls, each hood
a lit-up Rheingold or Schaefer logo.
A beer and a ball for him, a coke
in a cocktail glass for me. Smoke
snaked while I chomped chips. Row
upon row—the liquor behind the bar
in lavish overgrowth; on it, lily-
pad coasters: cardboard sponge. Silly,
but I liked to sniff them. There, far
from mother’s frowns, me and daddy, in cahoots—
together tasting heady, intoxicating fruits.