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.