Beer Bear

I was walking past an alley
when the beer bear leaned out,
grabbing me and pulling me in.
It burped in my face, took
a couple of healthy swigs
and fell backwards into a bin.
It crawled out, covered in slop,
eggshell, bits of fat and fruit,
shaking, starting to moan.
"You're a disgrace," I said, "look
at all this shit all over you."
It threw up everywhere, hunched
against the wall, then turned to me,
face dripping snot and spit
and growled "This is nothing new."

I remember it was so handsome,
toothy grin and pristine fur,
on the label of every brew.
It talked to me for hours,
about the baiting, the back door,
the way they screw you
out of every cent, pay in perks,
dope you up, finally kick you out
or just dump you at the zoo.
They way they bring you down.
It crushed the bottle in its paw
and tried its best to stand.
"Fuck the world," it said,
"I'm going to get out of this town,
walk until I'm in the forest."
When I left the alleyway,
it was face down, starting to snore.