A STOUT MONTH 2023 POEM:
Twas the night before Stout Month, when all through the pubs
Not a pale malt was boiling, not even the trubs;
The tap slats were hung by the art boards with care,
In hopes that stout beer drinkers soon would be there;
The brewers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of whiskey barrels danced in their heads;
And Nimz in his hoodie, and Jack in his boots,
Had just settled in for their weekly cahoots,
When out on the sidewalk there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their high-top to see what was the matter.
Away to the windows they flew like a flash,
To see our HR person, AKA Sash.
“IPAs!” Sash did cry, for the hour was near,
“We can’t just make all the IPAs disappear!”
But in just a few hours, all the beer would be stouts.
In fact, many barrels were already en route,
To far distant places, actually more distant-ish
Fort George distributes in the Pacific Northwest.
Despite protestation and in fact despite reason
Fort George pours only stouts for the whole stout month season.
More rapid than eagles, these servers they came
And they whooped and they hollered, “all the beers look the same!”
“Now caramel, now bourbon, now raspberry puree!
On Tiramisu stout collabs with our friends down the way!
To the keg and the can, to the walk-ins and spouts!
Now pour them and serve them, these incredible stouts!”
The crowds emptied their glasses and all gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But we heard them exclaim, ere they floated into the night,
HAPPY STOUT MONTH TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD PINT!