Is there such a thing? As for giving up poetry, I plead innocent; this is "light verse," which means it should not be taken seriously by anyone but myself.
Bi-Cycle
I drink too much. It’s sad. It’s so plebeian.
Whiskey straight and ice, though sometimes wine.
I drink until my faults—well, I don’t see ‘um.
I think that’s why most drink. “It is divine
To forgive,” so the caveat goes.
But caveats don’t comfort—they’re abstractions.
They will not numb my head down to my toes.
I’m want to lose, not gain any more traction!
The rabble-rousing voices in my head
Rarely shut off when I am being still.
A little booze, the radio goes dead;
A little booze, I step off the treadmill.
Although my doctor says my habit’s risky
Considering all the medicines I take
There are worse ways to cope than a lot of whiskey—
I mean a lot. I’ve got a thirst to slake!
Oh happy alcoholic! Or so I think.
My mind’s at ease, I’m never in denial
Until the morning and the morning’s trial
When weaving towards the bath I swear off drink.
2 Kilobunnies,
CE
I drink too much. It’s sad. It’s so plebeian.
Whiskey straight and ice, though sometimes wine.
I drink until my faults—well, I don’t see ‘um.
I think that’s why most drink. “It is divine
To forgive,” so the caveat goes.
But caveats don’t comfort—they’re abstractions.
They will not numb my head down to my toes.
I’m want to lose, not gain any more traction!
The rabble-rousing voices in my head
Rarely shut off when I am being still.
A little booze, the radio goes dead;
A little booze, I step off the treadmill.
Although my doctor says my habit’s risky
Considering all the medicines I take
There are worse ways to cope than a lot of whiskey—
I mean a lot. I’ve got a thirst to slake!
Oh happy alcoholic! Or so I think.
My mind’s at ease, I’m never in denial
Until the morning and the morning’s trial
When weaving towards the bath I swear off drink.