“Oats bring a creaminess and soft mouthfeel to the roast malt character in our classic oatmeal stout. The Poet is a perfect representation of balance and one of America’s leading oatmeal stouts.”
Yes, and when you have one of those days that makes you feel like you can do anything, you might, the night before on the way home from The Old Juke Joint, have bought a variety 12-pack of the same beers you took to the park for your son’s high school graduation party last month; and The Poet might have been the first one you opened when you went upstairs to work a little bit just now. It’s all a coincidence so far, but then you go back into the Scrivener project that contains a bunch of poems you have been working on; and you look at the most recent one, which also makes reference to the graduation party (and all that fancy sausage you bought at Claus’); and that’s the one you wanted to work on, because when you have good days like this you feel charitable, and expansive. It’s no longer a coincidence, of course, that this post is more of a prose poem than it is a blog post about beer. You don’t know exactly what turns prose into poetry, but sometimes poems speak to you; and sometimes it’s fun to try and write them. Sometimes an oatmeal stout is better than an IPA; this is one of those days.
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