The strawberry breezer wasn’t really a breeze
She felt queasy but then brushed it off
The screwdriver screwed her head
And made it all full of wool
She realized with dread.
Now, how about a Mudslide
She thought as she tripped down the steps
She was ever so muddled, despite the chocolate flavor she loved.
The Margarita mmmm so delicious
And fiery and strong
But it rubbed salt in her wounds, so it must be wrong.
She eyed the wine next
But there he stood and mocked.
You won’t forget me, I won’t dim out on any pretext
The spirits can’t save you, my girl.
He held her arm and gave her a twirl.
She must be imagining him,
As he smiled at her through all that fog
She told herself before she passed out and slept like a log.
P.S. for the worried reader or two – No, she didn’t have so many drinks in a day. It’s just the poet’s imagination at work 😉