To John Barleycorn,
My Old Friend
Some insist good brandy
Is not to be mistaken for
Fire cut with motor oil.
I am not among them;
I taste little difference in that
high priced drink
From the home distilled grain alcohol
--
Fermented chicken feed,
Run through the pipes to an approximate
purity
Of 180 proof ---
Which David wrote off as a "bad
batch,"
Though I never caught why it was
inferior
To his other, more successful,
Ventures as a college-age brewer
of 'shine.
I'd rather meet John Barleycorn
In his native aged, fermented state,
Dark with hops and malt
And tasting more of grain
Than the intoxicant within;
I'll sip a stout in praise of forgotten
breweries,
Remembering Hams Draft in little
silver cans
And quart bottles of Duke Draft
From before their breweries were
closed.
2/29/2000
