Wednesday, February 18, 2015

On still being carded

At twenty-nine, that was my age,
Not thirty, although near,
A bartender who couldn't gauge,
Sought proof to sell me beer.

I had a wife and kid at home,
A job for board and bed;
I was adult, how dare this gnome,
To question what I said!

I vowed this stuff would come no more,
A 'stache would do the trick,
And years flew by with no encore,
Time passing very quick.

I wear a full, grey beard today,
It suits me not to shave,
And proof of age, I have to say,
Is not a thing they crave.

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