The “Brewery of the Month”
is an honor for the few
so cork your bottles, hopsmiths
and it may come to you.
The Council’s word is final
And should we chance to hear,
“My turn is coming up again!”
you will wait till end-of-year.
Merit is the foaming head
that dissipates with time
as one complacent brewer
finds another’s reached their prime.
With twelve months and seven brewers
think you’re guaranteed a spot?
Guess again. We’d sooner die
than let a loser win the pot.
Other towns might make incentives
into wild smorgasbords
But we’d rather be bereft of beer
than lousy with rewards.
April 5, 2025. Written for National Poetry Writing Month
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