Iraq is a Dry County for Soldiers

My reading of the poem

Iraq is a Dry County for Soldiers

Since the boy can’t go to the bar for a drink, I wistfully
commit myself to the job, returning with two cold mugs of beer
    And so we sit, the mug and I, sipping suds together…
     
    An imaginary afternoon of fellowship, far from the turbulence
of terrorist trauma., thoughts of Iraq incursion lain aside.
    Yet, had I my druthers, I’d be drifting down a river in
Oregon, catching Salmon shouting fish on!

    And so we sit one quiet afternoon sipping suds together.
The mug frothing over its memories, as I froth over mine