Craft Beer Twelve
I started with the session ale at two in the afternoon,
the one with the citrus notes that always fills the room,
by four I moved to the double IPA, the heavy hitter,
the one that coats the tongue and makes the evening glitter,
the taproom’s got forty taps and I’ve made a plan,
to work my way through twelve of them, a deliberate man,
my buddy Dave is keeping pace and calling every pour,
we’re doing this with reverence and we’re doing this some more.
The porter at tap seven is as dark as a cave,
the kind of beer that makes you feel enormously brave,
I drink it slow because the porter asks for that,
then pivot to the wheat beer and the conversation flat,
out against the bar like something laid open wide,
we’ve been here since the afternoon and nobody’s lied,
about anything except our tolerance and our plan,
twelve craft beers is a reasonable count for a man.
Craft beer twelve, the evening’s getting wide,
craft beer twelve, we’re deep enough inside,
to see the whole thing clearly from the other side,
craft beer twelve and the night is our guide,
craft beer twelve, the taproom’s turning soft,
craft beer twelve, the bar stools are aloft,
Dave is on his ninth and I’m on something near,
craft beer twelve is the summit of the beer.
The stout at tap eleven is the old friend kind,
the one that’s thick enough to occupy the mind,
entirely with the chocolate and the roasted grain,
I sip it with the focus of a man under strain,
the good kind of strain, the pleasurable kind,
the kind that comes from treating craft beer as designed,
not just for drinking fast but for the tasting slow,
the twelve-tap odyssey that Dave and I will know.
Tap twelve is the sour and I respect the sour,
it’s the honest endpoint of the taproom hour,
the tartness cutting through everything that came before,
cleaning out the palate and then asking for more,
I finish it and Dave finishes his and we look around,
at the taproom we’ve been in since early afternoon found,
the place has turned from lunch crowd to the evening set,
and we’ve been here through all of it, no regret.
Craft beer twelve, the evening’s getting wide,
craft beer twelve, we’re deep enough inside,
to see the whole thing clearly from the other side,
craft beer twelve and the night is our guide,
craft beer twelve, the taproom’s turning soft,
craft beer twelve, the bar stools are aloft,
Dave is on his ninth and I’m on something near,
craft beer twelve is the summit of the beer.
We order the pretzel basket because pretzels make sense now,
dipping in the cheese sauce with the reverent vow,
of men who’ve earned their food through consistent beer work,
the pretzel is the medal and the cheese is the perk,
Dave suggests we do this again before the week is out,
I say yes because Dave always has the best ideas out,
we split the tab and tip the bartender right at forty percent,
the craft beer twelve odyssey was the best thing spent.
Craft beer twelve, the evening’s getting wide,
craft beer twelve, we’re deep enough inside,
to see the whole thing clearly from the other side,
craft beer twelve and the night is our guide,
craft beer twelve, the taproom’s turning soft,
craft beer twelve, the bar stools are aloft,
Dave is on his ninth and I’m on something near,
craft beer twelve is the summit of the beer.
I started with the session ale at two in the afternoon,
the one with the citrus notes that always fills the room,
by four I moved to the double IPA, the heavy hitter,
the one that coats the tongue and makes the evening glitter,
the taproom’s got forty taps and I’ve made a plan,
to work my way through twelve of them, a deliberate man,
my buddy Dave is keeping pace and calling every pour,
we’re doing this with reverence and we’re doing this some more.
The porter at tap seven is as dark as a cave,
the kind of beer that makes you feel enormously brave,
I drink it slow because the porter asks for that,
then pivot to the wheat beer and the conversation flat,
out against the bar like something laid open wide,
we’ve been here since the afternoon and nobody’s lied,
about anything except our tolerance and our plan,
twelve craft beers is a reasonable count for a man.
Craft beer twelve, the evening’s getting wide,
craft beer twelve, we’re deep enough inside,
to see the whole thing clearly from the other side,
craft beer twelve and the night is our guide,
craft beer twelve, the taproom’s turning soft,
craft beer twelve, the bar stools are aloft,
Dave is on his ninth and I’m on something near,
craft beer twelve is the summit of the beer.
The stout at tap eleven is the old friend kind,
the one that’s thick enough to occupy the mind,
entirely with the chocolate and the roasted grain,
I sip it with the focus of a man under strain,
the good kind of strain, the pleasurable kind,
the kind that comes from treating craft beer as designed,
not just for drinking fast but for the tasting slow,
the twelve-tap odyssey that Dave and I will know.
Tap twelve is the sour and I respect the sour,
it’s the honest endpoint of the taproom hour,
the tartness cutting through everything that came before,
cleaning out the palate and then asking for more,
I finish it and Dave finishes his and we look around,
at the taproom we’ve been in since early afternoon found,
the place has turned from lunch crowd to the evening set,
and we’ve been here through all of it, no regret.
Craft beer twelve, the evening’s getting wide,
craft beer twelve, we’re deep enough inside,
to see the whole thing clearly from the other side,
craft beer twelve and the night is our guide,
craft beer twelve, the taproom’s turning soft,
craft beer twelve, the bar stools are aloft,
Dave is on his ninth and I’m on something near,
craft beer twelve is the summit of the beer.
We order the pretzel basket because pretzels make sense now,
dipping in the cheese sauce with the reverent vow,
of men who’ve earned their food through consistent beer work,
the pretzel is the medal and the cheese is the perk,
Dave suggests we do this again before the week is out,
I say yes because Dave always has the best ideas out,
we split the tab and tip the bartender right at forty percent,
the craft beer twelve odyssey was the best thing spent.
Craft beer twelve, the evening’s getting wide,
craft beer twelve, we’re deep enough inside,
to see the whole thing clearly from the other side,
craft beer twelve and the night is our guide,
craft beer twelve, the taproom’s turning soft,
craft beer twelve, the bar stools are aloft,
Dave is on his ninth and I’m on something near,
craft beer twelve is the summit of the beer.