Making Sure
The supermarket carries beer,
(I love my IPA’s)
But every time we buy some here,
We hear the same old phrase;
“You need to show us some ID,”
Which doesn’t make much sense
Since, speaking for my spouse and me,
There isn’t much suspense
In guessing that we’re of an age
That’s legal multiplied
By 3 or almost 4, the stage
Where we can’t be denied.
Yet still, our licenses come out,
As Pa. law demands,
Although there isn’t any doubt
Each cashier understands
That our ID’s are far from fake;
It only takes one glance
To know it would be some mistake
To look at us askance.
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