This is a memory from over 60 years ago.
Spiked Malt
When I turned twenty-one, Dad
said I should try the strong drink
that he drank in the old days
when they would skirt the dry laws
and beat them at their own game.
In the bar he ordered two
spiked malts. Herb grinned while lifting
two chilled bottles of near beer
from his cooler, poured an inch
from each neck, hoisted a jug
of one-hundred and ninety proof
alcohol and poured a stream
of spirit into each neck.
Shrewd old-timers learned to mix
alcohol-free near beer with
homemade whisky cooked in their
illicit stills to fulfill
their want for pleasurable
drink and drive revenuers
crazy.
Now these bolstered drinks
stood before us on the bar
ready to drink and soften
our hard world and bring us sweet
sensation. Giddy feelings
swept through my body, my legs
grew weak, my eyes
crossed, and distorted double
vision split the horizon.
And then Dad ordered two more.
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