The beer

shines amber yellow

under its froth

of ocean foam.

The wine

sits dark and ominous,

a deep red

of blood and soil.

The pina colada

is a day at the beach

turned liquid,

sun-yellow,

held in place

by an umbrella and a cherry.

It seems such a shame

to drink these concoctions.

But bars have a habit

of attracting the shameless.