When I was young, oh four or five
my uncle clapped my back.
He said a wolf is only lone
until it needs a pack.
He told me he would tell me straight
and he would tell me here,
the greatest joy in all of life –
to share a breakfast beer.
A breakfast beer! How sweet the sound –
(a wretch like me, to save!)
I’d sit and drink, and drink, and sit –
and then I’d misbehave.
The time was four or five A.M.
(my mom was fast asleep)
I oft would wander from my bed
and at this hour creep.
They have a word for men like me –
they’ve bandied it too long.
They think the hour of the day
should dictate right from wrong.
To hell with them! A breakfast beer’s
the sweetest draft by far,
to put to bed the fear and dread –
before I drive my car.
— J. Wickline
