with apologies to Robert Frost
Whose cans these are I think I know.
The tavern owner's name is Joe;
He will not see me drinking here
As on assignment he must go.
My little buzz will let me hear
If friend or foe approaches near
And so I sit upon a stool
And swill his brew year after year.
He gives his head a nod to say
"I do not think he'll ever pay
The growing list of brews and ale
This old young man adds to his tab."
The mugs are lovely, clean and bright,
I've no place else to go tonight,
And beers to drink before I sleep,
And beers to drink before I sleep.