I





Go ahead,


drink until
you


act like a
dink!





Float until
you


fall down
and


we gloat!





Vomit,
hurl, and spew


until you
stomp on it


in the
morning dew!





Repeat
every night


because
you're the man


of your
house


and you're
so right.





Repeat it
until


your sons
get it right


that's rye,
scotch and


Guinness –
NOT


Labatt's
Blue,


it just
won't do!





Repeat it
daily


until, of
course,


one hazy
night,


you old
goat,


you trip
and fall


and hit
your thick skull


on the sink


like a real
dink


with a crash


as loud as
your wallet's cash


and then
you begin to


swell and
bloat.





II





Hours
later,


not that it
matters,


your eldest
drunken son


stumbled
upon you,


all pretty
and blue,


dried blood
on your head


you're so
dead!





Say goodbye
to


the pale
creamy Irish skin,


blotchy
whiskey rash,


barrel
girth and raspy breath


brought on
by your liquid sin!





Time to
throw your ashes


in a tin –
your Irish luck


has run out


as sure as
old kings had gout!



About the author:
A former factory worker who throws snow balls at hibernating bears in the distant north.

© 2011 Word Riot