Stopping by the Beer Distributors on a Summer Evening

(with no apologies to Robert Frost)

Whose pickup that is, I think I know.
The cops took his license two weeks ago.
He really shouldn’t be stopping here
to pick up a case of “Nattie Bo”.

My Subaru must think it queer
to pull into this ‘garage of beer’.
Between the cases and a guy named Jake
I ever-so-carefully steer.

He opens up my trunk. “I’ll take
a case of Red Hook IPA,
and one of something kind of cheap
to go with barbecued skirt steak.”

I pay and, as I’m leaving, beep,
followed by my cousin’s jeep.
There’s beer to drink before we sleep.
There’s beer to drink before we sleep.

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