He handed me the bottle and it tasted awful.
It wasn’t my first time with beer
but it was the first time outside.
I had no place to put the bottle
so I kept drinking.
It didn’t stop being awful
but maybe I was thirsty.

Buffalo Tom was on
and there was a mosh pit
with boys abusing each other
throwing their bodies into one another violently.
It seemed ridiculous. Dangerous.
I stayed on the periphery,
watching the band,
and pushing careless moshers back into the pit.
When I finished my beer,
I put it between my legs.
I was glad that was over with.
I was light-headed.
The childhood baby fat wasn’t enough
to provide me with a higher tolerance.
One drink could do me in.

Someone pushed me into the pit,
reeling into a dozen other kids
tossing arms and knees and butts into each other.
Pushing and elbowing and jumping.
It was wild and weird.
I tried to jump out
but was pushed back in
and decided I didn’t mind.
I took off my glasses
and had at it.

Let loose the knuckles of war!

Moshing proved fun.
Beatrice UTB came on.
They were a local band
with funny songs I didn’t understand.
I maintained my violence in the pit
as long as others would have me.
It was more exercise than I’d had in a while.
I was amazed that my clothes survived.

I would mosh at shows for years to come.
It seemed surprisingly safe in Western Massachusetts.
One beer remains my limit
– actually, that may be the only beer I completed,
since it continues to suck.