A Six Pack of Beer

A six pack of beer is a wondrous commodity

The amount is balanced to preserve soberiety.

When you learn to pace

When we were young and hated the taste

We drank our six beers in fearful haste

Between us, we could down a pack

In less than twenty minutes

Three apiece, Genny cream, back to back

Hating every swig but proud to be "men"

Then we would go out into the blur world

And talk from our labels 

Of heros and assholes

"Truman's an asshole"

And men amongst men.

Then walk to Main Street 

To fool Big Bertha and get another pack

which we carried all the way home as it warmed.

Back home the taste was better this time

less bitter and more in tune

with the rock music playing

from the Dagwood speakers

and the black lights of the basement.

A six pack was more then enough then.

Empowered by the gagging haste.

We jumped the fence to the field

Where other gaggers lollied

Waiting for each other to talk of Mantle

Of Mays, of the Duke and Gifford

and of the dayzs ahead when we would

surpass our fathers

who drank their six packs

much more slowly and taught us 

Who we would be

Who we should be

Who we became

Between wars