(an impromptu “song” for Dad on his birthday)
Consider the drunkard,
He reeks of the junkyard,
The sick sticky floor of the bar.
Now think of the drammard,
Though equally hammered,
He smells like a Cuban cigar.
The drunkard does stink,
All he cares for is drink,
And his vittles are little than grub.
But the drammard loves art,
And is wickedly smart,
Spouting poems all night at the pub.
“Could you do me a favor?
Take a moment to savor
Each sip,” says the dram to the drunk.
But the drunk he is woozy,
He stammers a “Scuse me,”
Then falls to the floor with a plunk.
Now the drammard’s polite
But he’s getting right tight,
And he knows that he must find a cab.
He downs his last toddy,
Steps over drunk’s body,
And shouts, “Put it on my friend’s tab!”
Kelly Hammond
