Busy night last night,
Crates are full
Of old beer stinking out the dew.
Ale, Porter, Stout
Makes me think, who was out drinking?
Waiting to be sorted,
Finger fits neatly in the neck.
Keeping watch for drunken wasps
Crawling in past closing time,
Struggling to leave their sugared prison,
Getting hotter in the morning sun,
Their protests amplified
“Hurry up, let’s get it done!”
It’s almost ten and the brewery men
Will arrive to take them back to bed.