A Buttery Pint

I could hardly believe my eyes
when upon ordering a fizzy, cold pint
the barman scooped a curl of butter
and dropped it inside.

Revolving, dissolving
like orange peel or rind
adored by bubbles
racing for height.

"It's better this way" he said
patting my hand.
"Drink it while it's nice and hot."

I did, and it was surprisingly good
but surely bad for my arteries.