The Big Tent Prompt for the 25th day of NaPoWriMo is to write a poem about things in Mason Jars. Most country boys gained a little experience with Mason Jars or little brown jugs over the years. While the home-brew beer or homemade wine probably wouldn’t kill you, nothing was sure with the distilled corn liquor knows as white lightning. Tried them all as I was growing up, but like my first kiss, I remember my first taste of homemade wine.
MASON JAR WINE
by Mike Patrick
Once a year was the family bar-be-que.
This year it was hosted by poor Uncle Paul.
Poor because he did not have enough wine bottles
for his homemade wine.
There on the shelves of his wine shed,
his unlocked wine shed,
along with a few regular wine bottles,
were rows of Mason Jars.
The clear jars displayed various shades of liquid
from deep purple to almost clear.
The deep purple was probably grape,
but Uncle Paul made wine out of everything.
What color is dandelion wine?
At twelve, I was the oldest,
brother Bruce was ten
and Cousin Eddie was eleven.
Our mission, if we chose to accept it,
was to find out what wine tasted like.
We accepted it, and it was sweet,
at least the grape
–if that’s what it was–tasted sweet.
Wine is supposed to go to your head,
but we felt it on our bottoms.
We were still on our first Mason Jar
when Uncle Paul found us.
He was ‘disappointed’ with us.
If we had asked, and our parents said okay,
he would have given us a sip.
Instead, he turned us over to our parents.
They were not so forgiving.
It wasn’t our heads hurting the next day.