Unfiltered, cellar lain the round of four seasons—
Through solstice frost and solstice heat.
And if it rained, who cares?
It’s still tuber-brown,
still cloudy as an April train station,
still the taste of the old year
and its windfalls—
Braeburn, Brown Snout, Bramley
from Somerset or Herefordshire.
Still the nose of wild yeast, of cat piss
and meadowsweet.
With the tap turned and the vent eased
the barrel sighs this pungency.
Let it pour.
Everything will stay like it is.
My glass is drained. I call another. I like it like this.
Dan Rattelle is an MFA candidate at the University of St Andrews. He is the author of the chapbook The Commonwealth.
More work by Dan Rattelle
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