King of Beers

Tucked against the brick of the garage wall and next to a planter full of pansies, it stands tall as a sentinel, the giant Budweiser bottle, empty and wearing its cap.  

Is it lost?  Who lost this beer bottle in my breezeway?  Was it left for me by a homeless one, grateful for having slept in the protection of the garage?  Nothing is missing, not even the pocket change I left on the little table.

Did he sleep on the floor or in my car?  No matter.  Was he here at all?  Of course he wasn't here.  He is a product of my imagination.  Or is he?

Who else would walk all the way from the street just to place this bottle so carefully, stage this scene?  What kind of person would do that? 

If Parrish were not in jail, I would immediately know it came from him, some sign that he was here though the judge forbade him to come to my house.

Does it mean anything?  Is it some sort of prank?  To what end?  If Israel found it in the yard, he would put it in the trash, not place it on the breezeway.  I am puzzled but not afraid.

  

There is nothing menacing about this beer bottle.  It is friendly and appears to be watching out for me.  I place it in the trash, wondering where it will end up next. 


© 2013 cj schlottman