The Brewster
I admire your method of drinking your beer—
boldly and brashly, without any fear
that there won’t be more when you come to the dregs.
You have faith that there’s more in the taps and the kegs.
It’s a pure faith that you have in the hops—
in your estimation, the finest of crops.
Add it to barley and water and yeast
and you’ll have a fine brew to add to the feast.
In schooner or lager, in pint or in bottle,
I like how you swig it down, going full throttle.
Your method is bold but not lacking in grace.
As you gulp down your brew, it’s clear you’re an ace
at pilsner disposal. As the glass leaves your face,
the beer has all vanished with nary a trace,
save for a mustache of frothy white foam
that you lick from your top lip before you go home!
Then, evidence gone, you cross over the bridge
and drive quickly home, where you open your fridge
to extract your “first” brewski, or so thinks your wife.
When seasoned with beer, it’s a wonderful life!
