“zima”

Zima in the bottle, cold and clear,  
A flash of the ’90s reappears—  
Citrusy shimmer with sass in its fizz,  
Crystal nostalgia in bottles and spritz.

You sparkled in nightclubs, you danced at the bar,  
With frost on your label and light in your jar.  
A twist off the cap, then laughter would spill,  
As neon-lit jukeboxes buzzed on the sill.

No hops in your heart, no malt shadows to hide,  
Just sweetness and lemon and clarity's pride.  
A relic of youth, of flannel and tape,  
Of rollerblade glories and digital shapes.

Though now you're a memory, rare on the shelf,  
With giddy old friends we might toast to your health:  
To Zima—the drink with a name like a breeze,  
Returned by the whisper of retro reprise.

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