drink pickle juice

I often drink pickle juice
I heard it was good for me. 
No idea where I heard. 
Maybe I invented it.
I sometimes do.
Maybe it's bad for me. 
I'll come in again. 

I often drink pickle juice. 
I love it. 
Dill or sweet, kosher or 
Polish or bread n' butter, 
it provides a sour, tart 
or whatever jumpy jolt
of pure picklishness! Like 
a punch in the mouth 
from an old friend - who
happens to be a pickle! - and 
right down the throat. I haven't 
heard, necessarily that it's good 
for me - anyway, I won't swear 
to it - but hey, those jars are marked
"edible!" "fit for human consumption!" 
or at least it's heavily implied - for 
a reason. Anyway 

strictly, it's called brine. Which makes 
this whole thing seem like I don't know 
what I'm talking about. People might
think less of me, knowing that. Know

what? 

I never drank any pickle juice.
Too timid, I guess. Not too bold.
Afraid to glug, glug the vinegary 
remains, crunch the round white 
seeds - so many! Whatever those 
are - take the whole thing and
upend it by degrees, into my 
smiling maw, totally satisfied 
in a briny catharsis. But 

I've thought about it 
maybe one day 

pickle juice, you are probably 
much just like I imagined you, 
only imagined, for the sake 

of a poem.