Drinks Heron Me
(a stout rendition of Captain Oh Captain)
Mine eyes espy the glory
per ending of another work day doth
beckon Bailys Irish Creme
with Absolut certainty that
Fireball named Brandy
the Patron Crown
Royal abets dream
quest proof positive
to expunge stressful Boss
distilling cooked Grey Goose gleam
with nary blue clue how
ceaseless toiling efforts
play within lager corporation scheme
assigning exemplary
skills and talents within
appears trumped up losing team.
No exit out this grueling
twenty first century
rat trap where by Scotch
chief en gin air
except to drawn displeasure
and wallow in sorrows
downing Booze, or
house brand beer
despite drunken state
erodes axons and synapses
snap like chattering
false teeth of broken gear
quickly cause tenuous
grasp on queasy reality,
sanity, and tenacity
rent asunder and tear
Now that work day done
at long last, not a moment
to tally date with
Jack Daniels to delay
this linkedin conga line wants
to wash away sounds
of barked orders Rum bling – may
king me insides
writh with anger
as if type cast in diabolical
formidable, horrible play
whereby each active
scene increases assistance
for Johnny Walker to glide and sashay.
Argh, how those last remaining
minutes to escape hubbub
ticks away at pace of a snail
to these myopic eyes,
which suspect manager
surreptitiously turns
back clock hands male
lush hiss lee deliberately
toys with sanity, thus seek counsel
from Jimmy Beam without fail
when super tramping head honcho
will cease cheap trick
renouncing cruel act ale
ling me without sh malt s, Hops,
skips and jumps inebriation
welcomes me rendering taps
receding thoughts being bound, cramped,
and emulsified in
dark cubicle Schnapps
as if invisible taut cord
tears into virtual tatters
and life of Wry lee loosed flaps
from shredded material trailing
a tail that rivals tales of Aesop's.
That ambler liquid
of gods soothes palate and tongue
helps tubby dee
sensitized comfortably numb
feeling settles within
thine body electric
dulling the senses with
heavy eye lids plum
met to close shut tight
riding wave of ecstasy,
reflecting about dad and late mum,
though come morrow, a hang over
with ascension sensation
akin to Günter Grass
loud banging his tin drum.
Upon rising sober with total amnesia
sans pandering buffoon
realizing fallacious gimcrackery,
while ensconced fermented cocoon
booze hound tippled top dog
quickly reminded yours truly
how I goon
off the rails, perhaps, cuz of living
within a trackless caboose
sized wife named June.
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