Sometimes the Old Man swilled whisky

Sometimes he guzzled cheap beer

When he puked up his toenails so very discrete

It was one thing that I didn’t hear

But the sounds I remember are precious to me

When the plastic lid screwed off of the glass

The little ping-pish of the pop top

I guess he thought I was a dumb-ass

The thing about drunk drivers

Is they think they are so very sly

But the only way they will stay off the road

Is the day that they crash, burn and die

I would much rather watch your liver explode

Than you speeding dead straight at my car

Or as it so states in the funereal dirge

I will join you in Crossing the Bar

Lord, when I die,

let me go peacefully in my sleep,

like my Grandpa did;

not yelling and screaming

like the passengers in his car.

Amen.

©2011/duke larance -- the drugstore cowboy poet

July 17, 2911