'Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the house,
Not a beer to be found,
my thirst needing to be doused.
My stocking was hung on a rusty old nail,
In hopes St. Nicholas would bring me Pale Ale.
The grandchildren were all home,
nestled in bed,
While visions of Lone Stars danced in my head.
With me in my ‘kerchief, coverin’
my mouth and nose
I drove to Stripes as fast as my old truck goes.
When I pulled up to store,
there arose such a clatter,
I jumped out of my truck
to see what was the matter.
Out by the door, a fella was cussin’,
“I ain’t wearin’ no mask”, he was fussin’.
I stepped up to him, nose to nose,
And said, “You’re why all the bars are closed.”
He stormed off, cursing some more,
While I pulled up my mask
and entered the store.
When what to my blood-shot eyes did appear,
But a smiling old guy, the store manager.
A lively old fella, been there for years.
Thanked me and offered me free beers.
Such a nice guy, kinda short and thick,
With a white beard, looking like St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, my choices came,
As he listed the beers by their names:
“Got Coors, got Bud. Got Busch and Michelob
Or Dos Equis, or Pacifico. Corona or Modelo.”
To the beer aisle, cases stacked against the wall.
“That one and that one. I love them all!
So up to the counter my shopping cart flew,
Some longnecks, and even some craft brew.
As I turned around, the manager I did see
Dressed in red coming towards me.
He looked like a peddler, holding a sack
“Here’s some Slim Jims to go with that six-pack.”
His eyes, how they twinkled.
“Dimples?” you might ask.
I’m sorry. Can’t tell. He’s wearing a mask.
He was chubby and plump, a jolly old elf.
I’m betting he is a beer drinker himself.
And laying a finger aside his nose,
With a little push, his mask slightly rose.
I sprang to my Chevy,
to my friend I gave a wave.
Thanked him again for the all gifts he gave.
I heard him exclaim as I drove out of sight,
You stay safe and have a good night!
Merry Christmas, y’all!
