On Drinking a Cold One

The coldness you feel in your fingers
is your beer warming up.

Although I wrote that profundity at the little cafe near the end of the walk to the Natural Arch, I promise you that it is not the very very bad poem I mentioned in the previous post. That one has already been buried in a lead-lined container so that its smell won’t fell the local wildlife. [Technorati tags: poem DeepThoughts]

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