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holy pages,
ancient medicine-
a soul spotted
with flesh, marinated
in living water. This book
bound by leather-nourishment
seeping,
dripping,
spilling
over me.
Why is it that drinkers of wine

All fancy themselves connoisseurs;

As they sniff, swirl, sip and spit-

They’re all Robert Parkers I’m sure.


They talk about bouquet and fragrance,

hints of chocolate they find in the wine.

I sip on the wine and I’m puzzled

as I never find chocolate in mine.



My brother’s a beer connoisseur

Pour ten different beers in good light.

Though he may drink them all to be sure,

He distinguishes each upon sight



“There are different shadings of gold

and some give you more head than others.”

-Who would ever imagine that beer

would have something in common with lovers.



So go have your new Beaujolais

You Francophile drinkers of wine

I’m sure Orson Welles would have told you

They’re selling it way before time.



Back at the bar named McCullagh’s

They’re playing pool in the back room

Uncle Jimmy is schooling some suckers

It happens once in a blue moon.
From the time my older brother was little he has had the knack of distinguishing beer from the natural variations in color and presentation. He learned at Uncle Jimmy's tavern. Alas Uncle Jimmy and his tavern have passed into memory but he has retained this unique talent.

— The End —