Some days it's hard to find poetry. I spent the entire day in a seminar, rushed through my e-mails during the breaks, and then, when I got home, finished up some other work that had been put off because of the seminar. Where does one find poetry amid all that busy-ness?

I guess I'd have to say I found it in the glass of beer I ordered with my dinner: a pint of Geary's Hampshire Special Ale. I can't remember when I last had a beer, and it tasted really good. Made in Maine, too.

Also, then I read this article about how drinking beer enhances bone density. And Wickipedia tells me that it's the oldest fermented beverage. So by downing my beer tonight, I was staving off osteoporosis, enjoying a brief flashback to college, relaxing after a hectic workday, and carrying on a tradition enjoyed around the world for millenia. (And--though I didn't realize it at the time--toasting my 100th blog post to my Book of Days.) All that in one 16-ounce glass.

Tapping liquid bread
like erudite monks of old,
I channel the past.